Beethoven's only opera.
Stepping from dinner in a glass box of mirrors and light.
To the opera's lush red lashed in gold.
An image unseen.
A mirage of the self.
Flickering, swan-like and serene.
Floating on a mixture of fineness and forgetfulness.
Poise of a dancer.
And the confidence of a beloved Queen.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
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