When a woman
Gets up in the morning
Heats some water
Examines her hands
Gets out on the front
Of her cottage
Then perhaps she remembers
Unknown things
She had forgotten
Like a folded of paper
Under a small cushion
As soft as a loafer
Gets up in the morning
Heats some water
Looking in the distance
To know what the sky may bring
If it will rain tomorrow
These are unknown things
She had forgotten
Like a folded paper
As soft as a pillow
That one, that very one
On which so long ago
Someone had written
The end of this poem
Of this story
Lets water run down
Along the small of her back
Along her spine
And then she remembers
Like a folded paper
Under a small cushion
As soft as a loafer
Those unknown things
She had forgotten
Like a folded paper
Under a small cushion
Those unknown things
She had forgotten
An enamelled saucer
Lit up by a ray of sunlight