Love at First Sight

——波兰诗人维斯拉瓦·辛波丝卡(Wislawa Szymborska)

They’re both convinced that a sudden passion joined them.

Such certainty is beautiful, but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they’d never met before, they’re sure that there’d been nothing between them.

But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways – perhaps they’ve passed each other a million times?

I want to ask them if they don’t remember a moment face to face in some revolving door? perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd? a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver? but I know the answer.

No, they don’t remember They’d be amazed to hear that Chance has been toying with them now for years.

Not quite ready yet to become their Destiny, it pushed them close, drove them apart, it barred their path, stifling a laugh, and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals, even if they couldn’t read them yet.

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.