Vanity, the purpled sword,

Ever present, thrusting toward

A minor key

Schubert Sonata,

Raw and soothing,

A textless cantata

No more pretense.

Pretending to be younger, taller, leaner,

Aping persona masculine, meaner.

That's so past tense.

Equipment,

It's a different,

Pre-dic-a-ment.

One Father and His Son

Oh, Woman, Hardened Soft

The Narrowing Pool

Forgive Your Father

Fatherhood

This is what sanity’s score is about. 

Setting, an empty stage at d’Annunzio’s Villa Vittoriale, 1938.  He is surrounded by urns, caught in his memories of the past.  He remembers the end of the First World War and his seizure of the Adriatic Port, Fiume.

The past murmurs 

Telling tales

Insistently

Its legend wails.

In Death comes doubts about the morrow

What happens next besides the sorrow?

Do not mourn too soon.

Though he must go

Do not send him off

Before his time.

Our General

Retires

Having won enough

Wars and battles.

In a room apart—

Out of hearing he trusted—

He played Mozart carefully

Let each pitch come to you;

Accept its serendipity.