In the small flat
with bad heating
and a great view
of the park:
old trees,
birds
fountains,
flowers coloured sparsely.
All these images
enter through the window,
descend on the table
upon which He
with a big knife
chops the vegetables
singed by the autumn frost.
He deftly puts them in a pan
then in the oven
preheated.
She
doesn’t try to help,
just sits behind him
exhausted
but happy.
Strokes him gently
under the shirt,
his skin is soft
and under it
his oval body:
”Just to pour the sauce over,”
and kisses her on the neck.
This dish is a real miracle:
it contains
the near din
of the city,
the water that rushes
to their mouths,
the shrivelling cold
and the plane
that flies above their
flat.