The door was closed.
I fumbled three times
with the doorknob.
I thought the room was occupied
then, buttoning up my vest,
I entered, my head lowered.
I feared a nasty look
that took form
in my instincts.
At that moment, very gently,
I turned my head towards the window
which the wind had opened.
Papers lying on the desk
now lay scattered on the floor.
My head lowered, one by one,
I picked them up
with humility
and placed them on the desk
in expectation of a growl
or a rude look.
Cheerfully, I raised my head.
A large, empty armchair
was facing me.
I backed away
with ceremony and fear
saluting the empty armchair...
Those waiting before the door
one in front of the other
make life precarious, reflecting themselves,
in windows which bang from the wind.