Sometimes even a lunchcloth of five, six, or maybe
sixty hundred stars or a bit of daylight-blue with a caul of sunshine
across, hoisted there as if run up a flagpole.
It is well in the vertical city if the eyes and the heart have a lift
to them, because, after all, these bits of cut-up infinitude, as
many-shaped as cookies, even when seen from a tenement window and to the
accompaniment of crick in the neck, are as full of mysterious alchemy
over men's hearts as the desert sky or the sea sky. That is why, up
through the wells of men's walls, one glimpse of sky can twist the soul
with--oh, the bitter, the sweet ache that lies somewhere within the
heart's own heart, curled up there like a little protozoa. That is, if
the heart and the eyes have a lift to them. Marylin's had.
* * * * *
Marylin! How to convey to you the dance of her! The silver scheherazade
of poplar leaves when the breeze is playful? No. She was far nimbler
than a leaf tugging at its stem.
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