Opera by moonlight

The big round moon rises over the arena

as it has for thev past two thousand years
we sit on the stone, carved by slaves when Rome ruled the world
voices of the performers rise and fill the arena,
lifting out into the starry night
lights turn the stone bleachers lilac, then gold
costumes sparkle
the chorus dances
discussion and laughter from the nonnas behind us
as they share their picnic and their own history
it ends with applause and fireworks
and the thousands in suits and shorts, gowns and jeans
stream out and fill the cafes of the piazza
then disappear into the night.

another hot night in Verona
between Venice and the Alps and the Lombardy plain
i lie in bed, i can't sleep
maybe it is the expresso i drank two hours ago, thinking about the next stage of the journey,
or because i should not be asleep yet
the breeze flaps the awning on the balcony, blows over me
but it is still heavy with the day's heat
and then i hear it,
the rich deep voice of a tenor, drifting across the evening
Nabucco is proclaiming at the old arena
just a few hundred metres away
the old Babylonian is craving power,
pursuing love,
conquering and being defeated
as he can only do in opera
i go out into the night
stand on the balcony
and listen to the voices, to the violins and drums,
to applause under the stars
on a hot Verona night