DESOLATION Poem by Gerrit Komrij

The following day refinds me in the maze.
I'm trapped inside for good. It's now quite clear
I'm once more blinded by that figure's gaze.
My mother, rising in a sacred sphere.

Amid such bustling traffic - would she still be there?
I dare not leave my alley-web. She looked
Just like a child, the girl of bygone years -
Her face so full of tenderness, yet spooked.

I see her dress still swirling, marble-slick.
This memory I'm most hard put to shelve:
Her right hand resting lightly on a stick,
She winked at me upon the stroke of twelve.