Afternoon, when the whole world is
De Chirico’s square.
It seems that an epidemic has conquered
this city.
Only the short shadows
of jardinières and containers
intersect the long shadows
of buildings and street poles:
tried, crossed, laid down sabers.
Things tend towards motion
only in someone’s rear-view mirror.
And you, like a traffic sign
saying: “Look out, rockslide!”,
and even blind men
have long taken another route.