I settle into my seat with the care one might expect
of an airline passenger.
This is not what you would call
A Little Night Music,
and one must come prepared for turbulence.
There are no seat belts,
though it might be an interesting marketing strategy
to add a few in the front row of the mezzanine,
and a few in the loge,
where listeners perch on their seats,
hovering over the orchestra
as though they are stuck at the top
of a Ferris wheel.
This is where I am tonight,
rocking in my seat
as the musicians settle into small black chairs
and begin bowing and blowing until, soon enough,
the ride has started,
the wheel is moving,
and we are reeling
in the dark liquid of Mahler's first movement,
unaware of the resurrection which awaits us
ahead, below, above,
wherever that place is
where we find ourselves
when the music ends.