"Love at First Sight"
Wislawa Szymborska
Both are convinced
that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together.
Beautiful is such a certainty,
but uncertainty is more beautiful.
They thought they didn't know each other,
that nothing had ever happened between them.
What of these streets, stairways, and corridors
where they could have met so long ago?
I would like to ask them
whether they can remember–-
Perhaps in a revolving door
face to face one day?
An "excuse me" in a crowd?
A "wrong number" on the phone?
-–But I know their answer:
No, they don't remember.
How surprised they would be
to learn that for a long time
chance had been playing with them.
Not yet wholly ready
to transform into destiny for them.
It approached them, then backed off,
stood in their way
then, suppressing a giggle,
jumped to the side.
There were signs and signals.
If indecipherable, what does it matter?
Perhaps three years ago
or even last Tuesday,
did a certain leaf fly
from one shoulder to the other?
Was something lost then picked up?
Who knows, perhaps a ball
found in the bushes during childhood?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where, on the trace of a hand,
another hand was placed,
suitcases left beside each other in luggage,
and maybe the same dream a certain night,
forgotten upon waking.
But every new beginning
is only a continuation,
and the book of fate
is always open in the middle.
