Encounter

I remember the slow procession of boats and their black nets

That evening at the old pier, when, having fallen asleep

On a bench, I suddenly woke up from a strange dream,

Faintly recalling an encounter with a man at that same spot,

A man who looked like me, and who, after an argument,

Drew a revolver and shot me to death, then dragged my body

Into the water. As I sank, he calmly sat down on the same iron bench,

Gazing at the passing boats. The sun had set, the wind sighing.

The pained joy that it had all just been a dream, the stars

A scattered chorus above me. I walked back home.

For a number of days, I didn’t leave my room,

Avoiding the company of friends. I grew weary

Of my old causes, wary of any gestures of generosity,

Stopped smoking, religiously saw the doctor for the smallest cough

Or irregular heartbeat. In time, my voice grew coarse,

As if a crow had been trapped, thrashing wildly, in my lungs.

These days, when I look in the mirror, I recognise

The man from that night, the criminal I have become,

As my old self lies submerged under the drifting boats,

From time to time getting tangled in their mournful nets.