– 57 –

When the doves leave their shadows make a moving shelter.

Coincidence makes this sufficient; mismatch creates a dance.

I was not an acrobat but a singer and musician for the dance.

I was usually behind the curtain; when I stepped out under the noon sun I was almost overcome by the dazzling vertiginous weight of it and the hot white pavestones were like a pit before me.

I often failed to perform my duties.

Sometimes I tried to make up for it by waking in darkness out of a soft dream, nauseated, fumbling; after a while the sun came up and it seemed like an accomplishment.

I don’t think they liked keeping me on but I refused to give up.

read next sample