Raskolnikov
is dreaming
someone else
is dreaming
with the sea.
Raskolnikov, Everyman
needs a place to go to.
In a tin of biscuits
of all places
–the childhood of the magician–
a Japanese painting
painted within
another landscape.
In my dream
the student is
in Dublin
drinks coffee &
copiously jots down
the words of
the master.
Raskolnikov killed the Ivanovas
with a hidden pen.
Against the tide
the young man
walks in rags.
–It’s that sort of detail
that always ruins everything.–
All this time, waiting.
Nocturnal, the sea:
the eternal tomorrow.