Like a stranger
who shows you a little kindness,
the chess master of Täby strolls with you
amongst the mannen
in a tournament where every game
is one too many,
and the only name allowed
is Cartaphilus.
But as you walk
through the granite burg—
never sure
if the next cross street you turn onto
is a boulevard or a cul-de-sac,
yet feeling compelled to step forward,
even when in zugzwang—
you realise you’ve missed
the difference between a shop window
and a mirror.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 