Sonorous Synesthesia -- A Colorless Dream

I drift through an endless space, reacquainting myself again 

With the parallel black lines

Stacked on top of each other with infallible precision

In a backdrop of a cream filling, rich as buttercream topping on a cake


I weave through these 2 dimensional lines, embellishing its plain structure

With whimsical ovals, top hats, and droopy rectangles

I then sculpt gentle curves over my cursory doodles, sloping like the rolling California hills


I deftly draw the remaining details — alligator’s mouths sans teeth, dots, teepees, and wheelchair ramps


As these shapes oddly connect, I listen for the contour

Beginning scarce, fragile as a thin wine glass on a high-set table

slowly building until it’s

solid as a brick in heavy winds

starting loud as the ice maker in the witching hour

tapering off until it’s

silent as an unwound clock 


I feel a thumping in my eager heart

thumps at 80 beats per minute

One large downbeat to be divided in 3


I hear shifting frequencies

at 440 Hertz

Changing in descending fifths

Then in increasing minor thirds, each rising note exactly 10 cents flat of the perfect pitch

Finally modulating into minor through stair steps and an elongated fermata


I feel the stave, silky as my down comforter

I touch the subtle, rounded protrusions of notes

Cutting myself on the sharp edge of a pesky quarter rest


My calloused feet swipe along the off-white ground

Grainy as crayon on an unfurnished table

The microscopic grooves familiar as my kitchen tile


Warm, slippery, freshly printed ink seeps onto my outstretched fingers

And I inhale the musty scent of 1938 brass, calling to me from another world

Indicating my work is finished, and I am to return


I slip out of my whiting reverie

And turn to the corner where my instruments lay

ready to perform


This poem is about: 
Our world
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