FROM THE BRUSHED-AWAY TIME

How after the death of mine
this space to remain
clean and silent
and all things which till a moment ago
(a moment before my death)
fitted me
how to leave them
to stay in order
clean from my death  

How to leave behind like this:
a writing desk for example
a typewriter in a posing position
and a white paper in it
ready to endure
On the left of it, an ashtray
the cigarette butts a moment ago spilled out
(only a moment before my death)
and on the right, far right of all these despondencies
a pencil; a pointed nostalgia on its top
(ah how long, long ago used to be our pencils
long before my death)  

So much as for the table
and the things put in order
those surplus thrown away
from my desk  

And in the closet? oh in that solemn intimacy
all clean and white
the intimate lingerie first of all
and then a coat collar clean
oh how chemically clean
on a thin coat hanger  

Enough about the closet and its rigorous secrets

In the bookshelf
oh in that sweet small house
everything meek and vilifying
books neatly dusted
those borrowed returned
some letters lost in them
in the private of course
as one for example goodbye girl
then the rows and chapters underlined
all the true next to the true of course
of the former beauty and wisdom
(my death's indifferent to it of course
of course indifferent) 

Last purchased book at the bedside
read to the end
the written letters
for the due, for praise, for forgiveness,
or for. . .
at the post office, already
and the remaining debts

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