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(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired,
slimsandalled, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with innocent
hands. Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes. The
hours of noon follow in amber gold. Laughing, linked, high
haircombs flashing, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors,
lifting their arms.)
MAGINNI: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carré! Avant
deux! Breathe evenly! Balance!
(The morning and noon hours waltz in their places, turn-
ing, advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing
visavis. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms,
with hands descending to, touching, rising from their shoul-
ders.)
HOURS: You may touch my.
CAVALIERS: May I touch your?
HOURS: O, but lightly!
CAVALIERS: O, so lightly!
THE PIANOLA:
My little shy little lass has a waist.(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing. The
twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed,
lagging, languideyed, their cheeks delicate with cipria and
false faint bloom. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves
that flutter in the land breeze.)
MAGINNI: Avant huit! Traversé! Salut! Cours de mains!
Croisé!
(The night hours, one by one, steal to the last place. Morn-