Rigoletto's Oboe

Just when the fool's daughter

was about to explain

the puzzle of desire

the oboe emerged from offstage,

a sleek, crystalline sprite

suspended in air,

athletic with pain

For long seconds

the ever-stricken Plácido

gazed past fated Gilda

listening to the unsounded

perfectly executed shriek

and object of scripted monophony

yet to be phrased

To forlorn reed

sensing all,

not plotted vengeance

not La donna e mobile feint

was ecumenical counterpoint

wept in mezzopiano

of the opposite

July 2011