An orchestra of translucent musicians sits with instruments raised, bows touching strings that will never vibrate, breath held before notes that will never sound, their forms gradually becoming more transparent from the edges inward like fog receding into itself—the concert hall around them shifts between states, sometimes full of an expectant audience, sometimes empty, sometimes not existing at all, while at the conductor's podium stands an empty dress made of starlight, its sleeves raised in perpetual anticipation of a downbeat that exists outside of time, the silence so complete it becomes its own form of music