Landscape in the door

of the shanty, autumn leaves --


being blown around.

I'm sitting at the table, maybe
sleeping, I think for a second
at the blare of a siren
that takes along the smell
of puffed chestnuts from my nose
to an emergency

In the kitchen I see
the cat looking expectantly
and the clouds pass swiftly
past the drowsy sun
We're going to play soon
first I make coffee

High and low the boiling
water and the traffic rustle
my eyes shut, I feel
the cold under the arid air
of autumn, it will take long
before spring comes

Only slept little:

you were looking for something --


and then time crawled on.

It's never about

first this and then that, a truth --


is a coherence.

My nose in the cat,

the fur smells lovely, like a --


freshly steamed blanket.

The wind blows, nothing

happens, maybe unless you --


look to see something.

Something different:

a story of a search what --


crime was committed.