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the room where you sleep
does not take hold of you

your bed cannot be part of your skin
and your windows are nothing but

the ordinary closing and opening
of your day

you like a door that opens
to nowhere

you have diamonds in your hands
you spread them

in the garden and you see
how they all glitter for a while

darkness folds and
light of another day opens

you take a walk and whistle
you don't remember the color of the blanket

you forget what warmth was there on that bed
you do not care whether the windows are closed or open

you move to another house
and tell your stories all over again

there is no blink in your eyes
there is no stammering in your tongue

you do not tell them what you love
there are no hands too familiar to hold you back

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