His finger almost touches the bell,
the door, unbelievably slowly,
opens.
He enters.
...
I look at myself:
I have no problem.
I look all right
and, to some girls,
...
With a gentle hand, the storm grasps
the handle of the door of the world;
like a hesitant stranger, it lets itself in,
...
There is a sweet music,
but its sweetness fails to console you.
This is what the days have taught you:
in every long war
...
There are some inventions
that do not exist.
Old age is one of them.
...
A poet sits in a coffee shop, writing.
The old lady
thinks he is writing a letter to his mother,
...
My grandfather, still harbouring the illusion
that all is well with the world,
fills his countryside pipe
...
All of them arrive:
river and train
sound and ship
light and letters
...
It's also fine to die in our beds
on a clean pillow
and among our friends.
...