CARMEN IS THE MORNING, THE SONG, CARMEN IS THE CITY. THERE, IS THE DARK DRESS OF SMOKE; THE GLASS AND CONCRETE. SO SOLID WE LIVE IN CARMEN, NO ROOM FOR TRANSPARENCY. OUR SHADOW DAYS IN SUITS, SHOES, TRAFFIC, LUNCH BREAKS, AND RUSH HOURS TO AND FRO--THE SONG DIMS, SWALLOWED INTO THE GROUND. THE MORNING IS OPEN, IS FRESH, GREEN AS IT STRETCHES WITH OPTIMISM. THE SKY IS ON FIRE; THE FLAMES SOOTHED BY LAVENDER VEILS; WISTERIA-PEACH GOSSAMER CLOUDS THAT BLUSH PALE--INTO THE DAY. LATER IS DEFEATED, LATER IS HEAVY, SLEEP-BURDENED--LATER IS STOLEN.
