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.