"His Eye is on the Sparrow"

We intersect at Bloor and Yonge: an accident on the corner. We watch medics pull bodies from broken glass. I try not to stare.

Fingers light on my wrist, you guide me down a quiet street. The barista greets you by name; you carry our lattes out the back, smiling over your shoulder from the fire escape.

I lean against the café wall beside the vent from the roaster (gentle smoke, deeply aromatic, arousing as any scent) and watch you pull a moleskin journal from your bag.

I am squinting in the sun as you recite Catullus – a translation you wrote this morning. Two millennia incarnate in your voice: gentle as the sparrow you tease from my breast, pecking wistful hands…

In your measured cadence, your sonorous voice, I hear us make love: rhythm of tides… ductility of gold… spinning of stars over hemispheres...

(I hear you moan, one octave below: content in my taste and your sweat.)

You’re closing the notebook, your hand touches mine, and we fly.

Injera, Four Used Paperbacks, and a Blues Bar

This was another delightful day.

I intended to see "Gladstone Variations" at the Fringe Festival -- but after waiting in line for an hour and a half, I still wasn't able to get a ticket for the show. So I ended up eating Ethiopian food on Bloor Street with Moses (a sweet friend I lived with in Madison seven years ago)...

Then I dropped by the bookstore to see Ewan, the lovely poet/translator who inspired another blog entry: His Eye is on the Sparrow. We wandered through a nearby park, sprawling beneath old trees and talking about literature and theatre...

Later in the evening, I arrived at the University of Toronto to stage manage the show in the swimming pool, and I found my friend John waiting in the lobby. I noticed his datebook -- scrawls of blue ink and fringe shows:



After another exceptional performance, I headed off with the cast to Grossman's tavern, the legendary blues dive on Spadina. The band (two guitarists and one drummer) was incredible, and the drummer was simply phenomenal; I watched the rhythm course through his body, and because I could see the music (instead of simply hearing it), I felt (and understood) the music on a truly intuitive level...

On Hanlan's Island, a Short Ferry Ride from the City

Yesterday afternoon, I headed out to the Toronto Islands with five colleagues and friends from Perpeual Motion Theatre Company. (They're a brilliant young troupe from Minneapolis; I'm stage managing their show at the Toronto Fringe Festival, and I'd like to encourage anyone reading this to please see it -- and to write a review on the bulletin board at eye weekly...)





While waiting for the ferry, Derek pulled out a pocketknife and began whittling...




And Mark pulled out his notebook, showing me the pages for the virtual rock / paper / scissors tournament that he recently hosted on his blog, Enriched White Bread...




I watched the boat's wake through a small porthole...




... watched small sailboats through tree branches...




... and smiled as I saw the CN Tower through the trees and summer smog.



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(The first photograph -- the gorgeous underwater shot -- was taken by Avye Alexandres, who documented an earlier production of "The Depth of the Ocean" in her fantastic photo blog.)

On the Beach with Colleagues and New Friends

(Thanks to Terry for taking these photographs -- and for amusing us with some of the funniest stories I've heard in years...)

I Could Not Take a Photograph

thick fog:
streetlights twine
through maple leaves

softly, in pace,
past teens on the swings:
(2 a.m.) pendulums swaying...
haze of the night
like stratified time

(your hand in my hair)
(knees damp on the grass)
(overexposed)

moment replayed:
lines overlaid

Sunjye on Bloor and Brunswick: A Healing Ritual and a Delicate Balance

Walking toward the subway last night, after finishing a dress rehearsal with Perpetual Motion Theatre Company, I wandered around Bloor Street: tired but happy, a particularly delicious beef shawarma in hand.

When I reached the corner of Bloor and Brunswick, I stopped, curious; all along the sidewalk, someone had stacked bits of concrete, transforming utilitarianism into art:




Soon, Sunjye appeared. He was just starting to dismantle the sculptures for the night, loading chunks of concrete into a metal shopping cart:




I asked him to stop for a few moments while I took photographs. He was kind enough to oblige...




He said he'd be in the Bloor/Brunswick area frequently for the next two weeks (since the Fringe festival headquarters is nearby). If you see him, please stop and admire his artwork. (And then, if you're able, please toss a bit of change his way...)