As her aria gently cadenced, br the Idiva'sI breath and mouth were set br for her most luminescent high “C” br and not a sound came out. br br Vocal thunder filled the opera hall br as the gathered IconoscentiI br shouted grateful approbations - br hurling roses at her feet. br br Who can name the phantom proxy br that lent her its golden tone - br perhaps a migrant partial br from a flute or muted violin br or a floodlight’s hum br or a random wisp of wind? br br I wasn’t there but in my rashness br think I know (though lack the proof) . br I say it was an impish sprite br from the realm where poems are born.