i met margaret coming down the elevator. she said, i'm not supposed to talk, i'm on a silent retreat. we spoke about all the divisive things going down, and how ugly people can get on either side of a divide. maybe silence is no division, silent one. i should go into my own golden silence i said. if i go on a silent retreat can i still write in here? sure, it's silent in here. what is silent? does silence have meaning? meaning is asking, it seems. meaning needs background to be. the background is silence. relation. if it's the absence of sound, then it doesn't exist. only in relation. do we exist, knowm sayin? in a cave deep underground you hear your heartbeat sound. isn't it the same? the same as what. exactly. say nothing. there's an echo, nothing, nothing, nothing. it grows round your head, syllabub, as the silence fades in. it's never really silent, there are always words forming, without speech, preceding, sounds absent words, words growing like calcite soda straws in a cave, inchoate words, hollow tubes, in your head. funny to think, straws in your head. grasping. enjoy your silent retreat i said, i put my finger to my lip, we never spoke, i said, i didn't catch her last words, in gleaming sun and ice wind. that was telepathic speech, i said, riding off.