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By the detergents and dish soap by the orderly books and broom on the floor, by the clean windows, by the table without papers, notebooks or pens, by the easy chairs without newspapers, whoever approaches my house will find a day that is completely Friday. That is how I find it when I go out into the streets and the cathedral has been taken over by the world of the living and in the supermarket June becomes a bottle of gin, sausages and dessert, fan of light in the kiosk of the flower shop, city that undresses completely Friday. As does my body which recalls the memory of your body and foretells your presence in the restlessness of all it touches, in the remote control for the music, in the paper of the magazine, in the ice melted away just as the morning melts away completely Friday. When the front door opens the icebox divines what my body knew and suggests other titles for this poem: completely you, morning of the return, good love, good company.