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