Years later, perhaps,
he'll look in the mirror
and picture himself
for a moment
somewhere else.
Not in this town numbed
by snow, but under the yellow
basalt of the Gateway of India.
Or buying pomfret in the market.
He strains to see -
as if he could uncover
the full story.
As if he could untie
a boat on the lake,
row it from one world
to another -
backwards and forwards -
through the sunlight
and the shadows.
Uit: Souls, Tarset 2002
25
