Dressed in the dark velvet of theatre-goers,
luminous pearls at their throats, their dark
mouths open to the hot wind. Maybe
their songs are silent, but I hear them
anyway. I think they are singing
about freedom and restraint. Small
voices rising above the hubbub
and rattle of the daily news. Which is
always bad. They will not be silenced.
They will not let the darkness eat them.
Look at how they are framed, surrounded
by moss green leaves, the pale sky a cutout
behind them. Don't you want to join
in their song?