Grafofoni columbia
THIS IS MY DAY
This morning I woke up inside a
dream
of someone living in a skin of flesh.
And I had no escape, I was no Chwang Tse
who'd dreamt he was a butterfly
and asked himself when dawn came whether
he,
Chwang Tse, had dreamt he was a butterfly
or that the butterfly dreamt of
waking
as Chwang Tse, no, I was human,
a sturdy skeleton with thirty-two
teeth,
two hands and a tragic intellect
cursed with a fear of clocks.
Slowly,
though, reverently almost,
I
gave my face a hand and zipped
my
thoughts up tight.
This is my day, I knew.
Here a mirror peers at astonished
light.
There a butterfly breaks out.
And that is me.
© 2004, Menno
Wigman
© Translation: 2007, John
Irons
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