criss-crossing one another under the chandelier.
It’s a hot noon, the house walls
are bathed in a blinding sunlight,
in the room there’s still shadow
but it soon will give in
to a patch of fiery sky.
Despite some voices outside, radios on,
it’s all silence, quiet and present
like a thunder beyond sound
filling your cheeks with heat.
The gnats look marvellously indifferent
and steady in their rotating dance,
you gaze at them and don’t want
to go anywhere, do anything,
yes, it’s mainly because you feel ill
that you can let any usual wish go
and be centred with the gnats
in their fragment of eternity,
in the sunlight which is entering
making useless any curtain
and any thought.