Sitting in what is said to be the smallest of all spaces
I have a short moment to observe, unlimited, the noticed but unseen,
a daddy-long-legs that ended as wallpaper ace,
the abstract, semi-esoteric being of its outline glued to the wall,
and a rusted nail, once part of the color the wall must have had.
Sitting in the smallest of spaces not too much needs to be said.
The nail aged had its part eating untold history from the wall.
The cracked paint, scratches and the curved end of a gaz connection, one of the signs
a tiny insect, unnoticed for decades of its tiny life, and a red sign,
star or asterix, done with red pencil, above the dirt on the floor
from which no other sign proceeds but pulp, sudoku magazines,
the encylopedia of household stills and a pencil on top of it.