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You take the first street to the right
You follow the wharf
You pass the bridge
You knock at the door.

The sun shines
The river runs
At a window a pot of geraniums trembles
A car crosses over to the other bank.

You return to yourself in this merry landscape
Without noticing that the door is open behind you
The hostess stands at the doorway
The house is filled with shadows.

But on the table you notice a reflection
The reflection of day on fruit and on a bottle
On an earthenware plate and a piece of furniture
And you remain there on the doorstep between
The world full of people like yourself
And your droning isolation from the rest of the world.

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