Inconspicuous deeds, he said, inconspicuous people,

inconspicuous furniture, vases, ashtrays, inkwells,

limping tables, hollow beds — repetitions. He grabbed

the air with both hands as if from the beam

of an invisible roof and remained floating there.

A passerby, with a loaf of bread in his hands,

stopped awhile and asked “what’s going on friend,

why you move your legs, why you hold your hands

up high?” and cutting a piece of bread he offered him.

The other took it, brought it to his mouth, looked around,

             in awe,

and with the bite of bread in his mouth he started talking:

clearly, simply, warmly, almost joyously.