Poem by the Norwegian writer Paal Brekke

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