Where all paths get lost
The man who killed on Tuesday
was he a murderer Monday?
And wakes Wednesday at a grey window
with the shutter bleakly drifting through him
who is he now
the man of yesterday?
when the stone lifted his hand to strike
or the one he was the day before that
who
when was the day before yesterday
The light from the piano lamp he recalls
and the hands on the keys
yes Handel
And a heavy grey stone, crunching
He stares inwards
where old sighting points dissolve in the shutter
alter shape and change places
And looks at these hands
who owns them!
a stone they threw away in a ditch
or Handel, Handel
who has got up from the piano
without looking at him
lets the door glide shut
And only these hands are left
borrowed
used
Stray dogs is what they are
standing howling on a desolate moor
at Thursday Friday
Salve Grassator!
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