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