standing in the darkness
of an empty bedroom,
i watch the october night
washing the last passers-by,
mocking their umbrellas
and hoods in the lifeless lights
of the office building across
the street. from time to time
i return to my secluded kitchen
where, between gnossiennes,
i cook pancakes, not quite sure
if for your longed-for arrival
or my departure.
hidden pilcrow 