The sleepwalker’s sonnet

per flauto solo
2016

Nella mano una candela spenta. Piedi nudi ed occhi aperti, fissati da sonnambula. Esce dalla scena. Cammina con inerzia. Di tutto il fervore della festa scenica resta solo un’aura leggermente triste. Esce dal palco, come fosse uno spirito. Uno spirito dissoltosi nell’aria, nell’aria sottile.

“Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1