Silent Music

Silent Music

Feathered crotchets on a shaky stave
They sit, tails below each line in perfect parallels.
No time signature, no clef,
For the bars that stretch between poles.

Mobile music,
Each bar always having room for one note more,
Those already there shuffling along to make room,
Like an avian Mexican wave.

Strange music,
Unplayable by a human instrument,
Unsingable by mortal voices.

Then suddenly,
The invisible conductor raises his baton,
The notes rise on whirring wings;
A swirling symphony silhouetted against the setting sun.
To our ears, a cacophonous concerto,
To our eyes, a kaleidoscope of colour changing in the dying sunshine,
As the orchestra swells.

The unseen baton drops and the melody stops.
The notes return to the stave,
Forming a new score
And waiting for the curtain to rise once more.