SILENCE OF THE OPERA 

The winter sunset that I see through my window
so much sun for one window
to bright for my eyes, I hide for it might distract me
from the notes in this opera
pouncing in my head like a cat upon the piano 
(this... this poem in waiting)
you could tell it's in the air
it was to be no ordinary moment--- it was coming
I see the blowing snow looks like smoke
whisping like a ghost, the ashes of a cigarette 
In the kitchen I hear them chanting
as they labor, as to what must be done
opposed to their wanted dreams, sculpted muscles and cupcakes,
both made from flesh and sex
forming solid masses, rising
a glorious distraction, but I refrain, 
I am getting ready for the moment
 
and that sunset, slowing dipping under
hiding in it's sweater, it's head in it's shirt
no longer pierces through my streaked window
it tells me the moment is coming soon 
like firecrackers ---in waiting I wait in this stillness
and all this sings in my mind
like 10,000 operas tuning their talents, all at once
am I ready? perhaps I should just start writing
silence of the opera as I commence my journey