Timothy Liu
EXTREME UNCTION
For lovers emptied of their kiss a dream undone.
Reduced to this old bell as sinners kneel.
Hammers breaking stone to birth the arms and lips.
Toiling today for tomorrow's bread.
His body unadorned but garment to the bride.
His bare hands world enough.
Drunk on prayer as he rode me to the nethermost.
VEDETE . . . IL PALCO FUNESTO
anxious to make herself known before the world . . . had embarked . . . no longer in any doubt taking to the seas . . . found refuge in supplies of ships . . . and men . . . a reception no more than deserved but nonetheless . . . a fixed sum of one hundred ducats . . . enough to conclude one's youth with . . . half-successes . . . had settled for . . . was swept away by a darkly orchestrated cor anglais . . . a note of pathos . . . nor averse to having recourse to love . . . pruned and adapted . . . strong dramatic temperaments giving way to cantilena ineffably lovely . . . her highest registers confined to their boudoir . . . and the feast of his bel canto technique . . . had wrought a masterwork . . . an all-too-short career celebrated their survival with strong drink . . . wounded and exhausted . . . on a barren shore came to love already fast diminished . . . a museum piece . . . a rehearsed vignette . . . mad scenes onstage and off consigned to dust bins . . . be content that I am yours emptied of caprice and ask no more . . . eventual ruin . . . realized in the comparative calm of her final home and turned to voice alone . . . ravaged by age . . . son io nello mie stanze . . . o son sepolta