Six Poems

Sleepwalkers

You meet them in broad daylight
Fully dressed moving with the crowd.
Their eyes may be open wide,
But they see nothing, neither you nor me,
Nor do they see themselves moving
Ghostlike in dusty store windows
In company of small white clouds.

One of them crossing the avenue
Carrying on his back a long bedroll
With something awfully heavy in it
Protruding, laterally, cross-like.
It was as if the whole evening world
Moved within his slow dream,
Even the idlers gathered to watch a fire-eater,
Even the puffed-up pigeons
...