In the first aria he begins to hum.
This is the trace of true art and magic.
At one with the music but different and beyond.
An hors-texte someone might say.
I ponder the enduring nature of this experience,
this ghost of the artist,
unbidden, improvised, unscored, not even beautiful,
but it becomes what I listen for each time:
To search again for the traces of the dead in our lives.