It turns out I was right. But nothing has come of it. - Wisława Szymborska

But any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.

Żaden dzień się nie powtórzy,
nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy,
dwóch tych samych pocałunków,
dwóch jednakich spojrzeń w oczy.

...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.