28 June 2007. A Wednesday. Sunny morning. Mr. Copes' curious voice from the doorway--"How are you, my friend?" His 5-gallon pail with window-washing things, up and down the Avenue--a short man, of middle years. Gold tooth or two. Head always covered, until it's warm, and he needs to mop his brow...
Pina Bausch. Das Tanztheater. A man embraces a woman, or rather encircles her in his arms. To give comfort. His formal attire, white gloves--Spiegel der Gesellschaft--tender and clinical at one go. She a model of refinement, hair carefully gathered, tailored dress with tasteful floral print--a strand of pearls. Her ring--left hand--catches the stage lighting, and a narrow leather strap, above, over her wrist...
Rilke to Marina Tsvetaeva--"signal givers, noting more..."
"Each relinquishing fall plunges into the origin and is healed."
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