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Paperback
First published January 6, 2003





"They turned to us briefly and waved, and I thought what curious mirrors they were in the world; my parents, teachers of the boy, looking at the Pushkins, teachers of the man, and the man himself already gone down the street."
"Standing in the shadows, he regains his breath . . . He scuffs the resin box for traction, waits as she receives her applause. Here it is now, take it, grasp it, explode! He returns from the wings already in midair, moves through four cabrioles, keeping his line long until the sound catches up, an instant of conjunction, a flash of muscle and he sweeps the stage with his body, owning it, no limits. Eight perfect entrechats-dix, a thing of wonder, the audience slilent now, no body anymore no thought no awareness this must be the moment the others call god as if all doors are open everywhere leading to all other open doors nothing but open doors forever no hinges no frames no jambs no edges no shadows this is my soul born weightless born timeless a clock spring broken, he is in flight, he could stay like this forever and he looks out into the haze of necklaces eyeglasses cufflinks shirtfronts and knows he owns them."