XIII

In dreams people come to me,
whose names I have not yet heard.
One of them had almost my face.
He stood so close to me,
that I didn't know,
whether I was looking at a stranger,
or to life,
that returns to me
from the opposite end of time.
In the morning nothing was left of them.
Only a feeling
that beyond the border of my day
something stirred.
Every moment unfolds the light around itself.
In one direction lies everything,
what could have reached me.
To others everything,
that one day I will be able to touch.
And in between stands me,
in a narrow place,
where the past closes
and the future has no voice yet.
Perhaps hands already exist somewhere,
that I will know one day.
A room,
in which I will know how to fall asleep.
A face,
that I am passing for now
on the other side of the universe.
They are not far.
Only their light
has not yet entered
my time.
That is why when someone new
appears beside me,
nothing in me surges up
against them.
Or toward them.
Our presences simply
touch at the edge for a moment,
like two cones of light
that have not yet
managed to overlap.
Is it a rejection?
Or just the precision of a universe
that will not allow a meeting
a single second too soon?
Perhaps someone is already coming to me.
Perhaps I am coming to them.
Only for now we each carry
our own present moment
and between them lies darkness,
which is not empty.
It just cannot yet
pass anything on.
Once our lights cross paths,
I won't have to know why.
That's enough,
that this time I won't come
either too soon,
or too late.