Imagine, during a dreamless night,
you can open his past, as if it were a calendar,
brown skin, one week on two pages.
You can read what you wanted to know,
when, where, what and moreover: why.
Because you won’t only see the entry note,
but the feeling that came with it,
the home coming,
the glance,
the words,
the doubt,
the thought,
the fleeing,
the accusations,
first quietly,
then the attacks,
the growing number of kicks,
in vain he says,
it never ends,
let him hurt you,
with no consolation,
don’t let it be,
don’t let it be.
You’ll get the answers.
You yourself will arrange the sketch.
The matter is not how it happened.
Piece it together.
That’s how it was.
This is how it stays.