End of the Day
Years, windows, blankets, a small black ship with
its upper deck flooded by the western sun. Four
windows above the green dark waters. The naked,
drowned men, with their wristwatches, are discerned.
One of them has his left glass eye open. It doesn’t
close. Women went down and covered him with a bed
sheet. Then the customs officers came and sent the women
away. The bicycle rider brought an acetylene lamp from
the tavern. He leaned the bicycle against the railings.
Suddenly, the quay shone yellow up the end, showing
the man who was walking away with big strides like
an ancient runner, and he, in all the commotion, was
the one who had stolen the glass eye.
