All things… near, far, all those that have passed and others that are happening, and my friends - they are changing (we'll pass nearby, they are far away), others approach, they rise and fall, ducks on the water, here and there, for a moment, they rise, fall - I'll sleep here, the flowers on a tapestry, water from a dripping tap, the drape of a curtain,
My trousers on a chair, voices from an adjacent room; two or three people, from which
Station? Engines that whistle, there's no station near here, we threw orange peel off the terrace, into the straight and wide road - during the night, the mules bray desperately,
Towards morning, we slaughtered them - tomorrow I'll go out - she brings her head close to my ear - her leg, the long one - they talk, they move, here and there, but all is passed.

Moving mute objects, Alberto Giacometti