(For Kirsten)
They drive to Big Sur and
pull into a lot hovered by
witchcraft oaks
Says Rodolfo:
It's named for an elixir,
one that takes away all sorrows
Says Mimi:
In that case,
let's drink all that we can!
Scrubby hillsides sprayed with
copper sunset, a single
cloud in the shape of a boomerang
The Pacific far below,
a shade of forever nightsky that wraps the
continental rift like a fitted sheet
A fresh fire over
Mimi's left shoulder
Rodolfo takes a rhapsodic breath,
brings the fork to his mouth and
chews on a glazed duck that could
bring La Scala to tears
Even in Puccini,
such moments should not be possible
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