I don’t know anything – he says – nothing anymore I move

in almost roomy spaces without echoes

with no question or answer Distant lighting –

perhaps a hidden spotlight projecting in the air

or on a white non-existent wall slow gestures

by hovering strings grimaces of nothing pulleys

two leaves one Monday one ring

I move between events of the unexplainable I feel

almost explained I hold my breath I strike

the knocker of the ancient garden The servant comes out

He secretly gives me the chain I place it on my neck

under a yellow shirt I don’t salute I leave