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He, too, as an actor, stands postured in the doorway; yet he is in lightened area backed by shadow. His contemplation shifts to sensing, a shift of eye. The posturing of his face, an artificiality of muscular movement upward into haughty pride.
His lips parting. *
His voice: "Why..."
His fingers to his lips in gracefully moving horizontal lines. "I..."
Horizontal fingering lines covering thin line lips, poising there — "ami."
Then moving to the tips of fingers touching the flowering of lips into a round. The sound of a kiss.
His full figure in a theatrical flourish handing his kiss to all the room. The strong upstanding vertical fingers of his hand in parting. "This..."
A movement along the vertical floor boards reveals...
"being..." *
The round of a patch work rug. "my garden..."
The sewn flowerings of the rug appearing over each other in dissolving shifts of patchwork...
Then the frenzied dissolving movement among the threaded stalks of the rug... And at last the revelation of the rug in its entirety, a tattered ovular with spotty, irregular patches and loose ends.
An egg breaking, crumbling slowly in air, falling in air. A soft explosion, sharp as breath in exclamation.
The slowly falling egg, the trembling white strings of it, its emptied shell in hand. The egg striking frying pan, its circling liquid translucence turning hard white instantly. A violent hiss punctuated by continuing sputtering. A burst of steam diffusing in air. The screaming whistle of a tea pot. The slow breaking into drops ofdownfalling milk.
A tinny splashing and then the even tone of pouring liquid becoming gurgling. The bouncing dance of spla?n7ng drops ofmilk in air. A rhythmic gurgling.
A gnash of white teeth tearing white biscuit. The crackling of jaw bone vn chewing. The cooked egg and the plate: three circles held in hand. The fingers poising, then the poised fork suddenly down thrust. Fork cutting egg, breaking yolk. The crack of metal on glass.
The face oFthe youth" moving forward and down to receive the egg, his lips parting. The youth towering over the stove, his plate in hand, first eating of the egg, then tearing biscuit with his teeth, then drinking from a steaming qup to wash it down. The sounds of cooking and eating mingling. Rising steam beclouding his eyes.
The room is seen dreamily through the quivering heated air from the stove. His voice js unnaturally enclosed m. h]s throat, his mouth full with food: "This room being...
The youth towering over the stove, drawn to his full height, sets aside his food. "...my home..."
The room distorted to a squat flatness, the heat waves seen now struggling upward against a world of horizontals. "...my castle..."
(A poem fragment remembered by Walter Newcomb) Oh to find the lips of the sympathetic drinking water, Then to the softest unconcealings... Must one
Must one
Must one...