Something to look at while you listen.

The whole piece, scrolling itself, with everything but the sentence being spoken faded back.

One sentence at a time in large type, its neighbours ghosted either side. Nowhere to lose your place.

A single word inside a slow turning armature, for listening with your eyes open but not reading.

A drawn picture of each sentence: its shape if it is prose, its actual figures if it is data.

The people, places, dates and quantities the piece names, arriving as they are spoken and joined up.

A prompter to read aloud from: the line set large, its stresses marked, its beats counted, its pace shown.

The sentence taken apart — every word coloured by what it is doing, the spoken one split into syllables.

Read to you by a drawn face, whose mouth makes the shapes of the word and whose expression follows the passage.

The whole piece at once, as a structure: its subject, its themes, and the relationships that cut across them.

The one that is not a picture of the sentence. The text goes away, and you are asked what is left.