And a poem that isn’t really about opera


Passion and sentiment. Up on the stage
these rival queens contending for my heart
voices swoop down at prey. They stop and start
music has pauses, even when in rage

it pierces dagger-like. It is control
even when feigning frenzy. Both near mad
one sulky virtue, one drawn close to bad.
They weave around each other. As a foal

will almost totter, learn its way, then stand
up straight and tall. Music between the notes
as beautiful as what comes from their throats
the thing never quite heard we understand

harmonious from rivalry. It seems
a moment there, then lost, then heard in dreams


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s