Here is a poetic foreword to introduce the felt-sense or spatial soliloquy of the origin of this song. .
OPERA BLUES
Interlude.
What about our letters written in the name of love that we never send... ?
A Solo.
Perhaps, with a little sadness and wonder, we sit and extend the dramatic compositions of our love. What becomes of our telling and asking? .... of the arias we write but never send? What is it about the words told to a page on the floor, or tucked in a drawer? What becomes of the unsaid? At what point in our recitative do we choose not to send? What is born of that choosing?
A Breath Mark.
What stirs in the akasha of the unsent... ? as we lovingly caress our fingers along the lighted blue spines of all those pages there together bound...
Curtain.