On dark streets
quietly in the peace
a man walks east
to a park, where he sits
on a bench, and quietly smokes

a theatre group rehearses his life:
the black beret, the comfortable coat.

Ships
stacked one on another,
registered badly
to thoroughly bad men,
worn with commerce, come in,

come in, and finally
can wait no more
clearance comes
permission granted
they enter the bright chamber of the harbor

The men go
to a restuarant, where a woman
makes them food,
they talk about what they did.
It gives them courage,

So they can, after a decent interval,
do it again

Outside it has begun to rain
lightly.
The man in the park,
beret on head,
newspaper in hand,
has gone home,
a second floor apartment,

has poured something from a bottle
to a small glass,
has sipped, sat, opened
a book he has read before,
and begun again to read