As her aria gently cadenced, <br />the <I>diva's</I> breath and mouth were set <br />for her most luminescent high “C” <br />and not a sound came out. <br /> <br />Vocal thunder filled the opera hall <br />as the gathered <I>conoscenti</I> <br />shouted grateful approbations - <br />hurling roses at her feet. <br /> <br />Who can name the phantom proxy <br />that lent her its golden tone - <br />perhaps a migrant partial <br />from a flute or muted violin <br />or a floodlight’s hum <br />or a random wisp of wind? <br /> <br />I wasn’t there but in my rashness <br />think I know (though lack the proof) . <br />I say it was an impish sprite <br />from the realm where poems are born. <br /> <br /><I>June, 2008</I><br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/golden-silence-2/
