Cirenor

Today the Sky will be Sound

Have you not heard?
Today the sky will be sound.
The blue music of the day´s elation
Will be a stretched trapezium, uttered
Within the edgeless arch of vision.
At its periphery there will be accumulated root forms,
Rendered in low registers:
Warm cellos, muted brass, but not too sonorous.
Its various centres will be the convergence of branch forms;
These played in middle registers:
The noise of children laughing, smoothly flowing traffic,
The glittering silences made when lawnmowers stop;
That sort of thing.
Flowers and trees will be played
On cheap, but extremely cheerful, violins,
Overlaid with an irresistible flow of melody,
From wild, exuberant woodwinds.
The big splotch of Sun at the day´s top-right corner,
Will be a joyous dissonance of trumpets,
Pulsing interjections from time to time,
Emphasised by proud and haughty timpani,
Like marching elephants,
Seen from a balcony above a colourful, sunlit crowd,
Reminding things that are not awake
That it is time to get up and dance.

All day long, orange will be flutes,
And flutes will be orange.
Green will be a red guitar,
And areas of brown and yellow will be filled in
With pastel marimbas and brushed cymbals.

Beneath all those throbbing notes of light,
The cat´s cradle of distances
Will be made explicitly visible,
With a fresh immediacy
Quite unlike anything you have seen before.
And at the day´s crescendo,
Round about its golden mean,
You will walk, my happy, beautiful love,
Like a voluptuous O,
Across this sonic canvas,
Containing birds,
Stacked into tilted boxes of compressed flight.

Get ready.
For today the sky will be sound.

Let the old language shatter.
Let fresh new combinations emerge.
Permute the sense of nonsense
Into robust and practical truths.