To visit a sorcerer
in his garden . . . there is a bench
of crimson rose petals
Take a seat, he
says, pray
be seated, and I
pretend to be so
he himself
sits down without batting
an eyelid,
my pseudo-posture -- downright
embarrassing . . .
Opposite, by a window
stands the sorcerer's
daughter
I give her
a smile, apologetic, but she
slams the window!,
outraged,
nevertheless
still watching me
and with less inhibition
now,
behind her curtain.
In dreams
moments return
that stunned us for moments,
as often as not
negligible
happenings;
the great
events
that called for
determination,
do not
return.
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