I recently experienced a world premiere of an opera about the mythical character called Zorro. It is destined to be a hit among the opera world. Besides, the magical sets, costumes, story and operatic voice, it had some story lines and arias for characters from the peasant class, which is unusual for opera.

That part was particularly of interest to me, in regards as to what is worth doing beyond the many hours involved in pursuit of raw survival. Obviously love is crucial to fulfillment, but so is ritual, music, dance, and WORDS, the joy of language. All the players switched from Spanish to English, and back, with the fluidity of a salmon’s splash.

I only have English to conjoin music and language. That is what gives me purpose, in addition to living in a condition of love with my genius wife. For me words and structure float, fish like between the comedic world and the poetic world. Comedy works best with a beer in a bar, but poetry is transmissible on the page, so that is what I do here

A POET’S HYMN

All clouds bite the edge of the sky,
to make room, for thunder,
for sorrow to hide behind,
for translucent magic to take shape.

At the nexus of joy and the camel,
the guardian of words, born in sand,
revises time, clothed in language of numbers,
where nothing is lost and sleep is untested.

Belief languishes in the valley of no names,
the circumference of ecstatic notatio
cannot relinquish that secret midnight
that contains the imprint of a poem.

The first sound that ever escaped the moment,
whilst waiting for a memory that never arrives