she sings arias bel canto – lifts the mask so sound
surrenders to melody, then the singing voice is high
in the head. modern day castrato – contralto contorts
the libretto away from grief.
i recall the stars that night, right out of van gogh, and
the hard, chilled air sharp as a knife; we would laugh
at some joke and someone would tell another
while we blew clouds from our mouths.