Silence, a series of ten little poems, the first of which is below, is new (the ink is still writhing and wet). This poem is, by comparison, old, written almost ten years ago. It is a different approach to the same theme, from a period in which I spent a great deal of time thinking about how music is made.
AN OLD THEME
The jazz trumpeter—an old theme,
so bear with me on this one
not every poet has paid homage
to davis, gillespie, et al. . .—
signifies the eloquence of silence
by continuing to play
after the piece is at an end
by continuing to blow
an absence of sound.