Perhaps three years ago or just last Tuesday a certain leaf fluttered from one shoulder to another ? Something was dropped and then picked up . Who knows , maybe the ball that vanished into childhood ’ s thicket ?
There were doorknobs and doorbells where one touch had covered another beforehand . Suitcases checked and standing side by side . One night , perhaps , the same dream , grown hazy by morning .
Every beginning is only a sequel , after all , and the book of events is always open halfway through .
Copied by : Marcin Karaskiwicz