He
will come, neither
with a knife
in his hand
nor with
a roar
he will come
like someone who happens
to pa** by and asks about the time
he will come and tip his hat
February eleventh
nineteenhundredandsixtythree, just
past eleven, the morning
with no special
perspectives, very
little light
falling into
my room, Engelbertstra**e
fourth floor
and he will come
and read the electricity
and gas meters
he will
shut the door, politely
like someone who
doesn't know his way
around in life.