NOCTURNAL EPISODE

He hammered nail on the wall. He had nothing

to hang. He sat on an old chair

and stared, facing it. There was nothing

he could think of or remember. He got up

and covered the nail with his handkerchief. Suddenly

he saw that his hand had turned blue, dyed

by the moon standing by the window. The murderer

had lain down on his bed. His feet,

naked, strong, with faultless toenails with a corn

on the small toe, protruded from the blanket,

and the hairs curled erotically. This is how

statues always sleep,with their eyes open,

nor need you fear whatever dream, whatever word;

now you have the trustworthy witness you needed,

the most accurate and discrete: because you know

that statues never betray,but only reveal.