At 3:17 a.m. the cook left one chair on the table.
The room had already been cleaned.
Nobody had been paid to remember the light.

Day eleven: the blue solution clouded after twelve minutes.
A moth pressed itself against the laboratory window.
No conclusion.

The bridge was replaced years ago.
Everyone still calls it the old bridge.

There is a space here where something was going to be written.

The train arrives after everyone has stopped looking for it.
In the kitchen, something has burned slightly.
Someone eats it anyway, and smiles.

Weather, Tuesday:
No storm.
A little rain at the corner of the window where the frame never quite closes.

The notebook contains seven pages of measurements and one pressed leaf.
Nobody remembers who put the leaf there.