I started to read Der Doppelgänger in Paris
in a room that slightly swayed
It seemed well-known to me.
In all the streets I see a house where I can live
for I come from low-lying marshlands.
A descendant of land-seekers at sea
whalers and pirates I have a soft spot
for England an interest in France
and a preference for Russians who’ve strayed
into German. In Berlin I came across Der Doppelgänger
in a house that was just like my own.
What I had left behind in Paris
and would be able to approach from Berlin began
to thrust itself upon me in ever more concrete forms.
I let this happen for it was a bridge
that would mend loose ends in space and lacks in me.
But who says bridges have to be completed
and where are the words that I read.