RETURN Poem by Gerrit Komrij

I wonder if it really was a wink.
Who knows, it could have been a fateful omen.
A topsy-turvy state, a cross-wired link:
With me the carcass, she so young a woman.

Did you wake me up, mother, or I you?
Was it an omen or a brief hello?
I want to see the square again, pardieu.
I'm there already, simply have to know.

The square's like a vacated autodrome.
Those paltry street lamps make it seem forlorner.
The plinth is empty, too. I glimpse a show
Of liquid marble swirling round a corner.