Renée Fleming pleads at Berlin’s Waldbühne,
her blessed soprano flowing out to packed
faithful in open air, Song to the
Moon
at mesmerizing heights. Oh, yes, Dvořák
and Kvapil got it right: how Artemis
never stays long. Yet sensing love’s longing
to survive, to keep keepsakes safe, she’ll kiss
the sky, cause Phoebus Apollo to sing
for the lonely. And everything changes.
I watch that small slender cloud silhouette
pearl moon’s center and see you stride ranges
of white sand dunes, your runner’s skill onset
of poet’s dreams. My eyes applaud your grace,
your gliding form ascending out through space.
Roger Armbrust
August 11, 2013
