i
Nearly autumn.
I walk among open umbrellas
in the fish market.
Something cries inside me.

ii
This train compartment is stuffed
with smelling things:
cheese and bread, plastic mats, beach sand.

iii
Looking in the distance
I see my eyes reflections
on the dark window.
Floating, sinking.

iv
I am not curious.
Questions break like cheap glass.
Meanwhile I sit,
feet under chair.

v
Not enough space here. What about time?
What about the cuckoo clock ticking?
It stopped.

vi
Everything hangs on.
The same cafe still there
in this small station. It feels good.

vii
A middle-aged woman
spills coffee on her dress.
Before leaving,
She adds more lipstick.

viii
Today’s newspaper will cover
all this mess
wiping on linoleum
the prints below
the seats.

ix
Too tired
for another day.
The moment I open my eyes
a black pigeon flies.

x
Walking in the park
I realized that old men read the news
under cherry buds.

xi
Oh! That minute when he bows
in front of her smile,
on the lake’s border.

xii
Every time I walk slow
on melting ice
I think my footprints
grow too large.

xii
Driving fast on the motorway
with the sun behind me,
I feel like a stranger.

xiv
The traffic in my head
grows in geometric progression.
As long as I still remember.

xv
Graffiti signs
in a dark passage,
never deciphered, revealed
on every summer solstice.
Seasons change.