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Lauris Edmondonline works |
The third person I do not know how to describe the third person but on days when the doves came hurtling over the city flung upwards in great purring armfuls outside your window and fell, piling like black hail on ledges of buildings across the street, he came in, he was there – let us call him a man. He preened his purple feathers. His eyes were brilliant, unblinking; he became servant, interpreter, master and miracle-maker, intricate designer of harmony out of our broken fragments of love and confusion; I thought you had summoned him for me, understanding my weakness. I found him beautiful. I came to you one cold evening in April, the summer doves had flown, you were busy; in the hard blue light the third person was very tall and sharpened his steely claws meticulously. When I showed my fear you moved slowly to stand beside him and stared at me calmly without recognition. ©Lauris Edmond |
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