When I Went Out, I Didn't Know

On the hill,
a house.

Before it,
a man.

The hand that once held the oar
now held the head of a stick.

On the sea
a boat had gone out.

The old man
looked only that way.

“Who
is in it?”

“I don't know.”

His eyes
did not leave the boat.

“When I went out,
I didn't know.”

“Know what?”

“That from here
someone watches like this.”

I too
went out that way
twice.

On the day I left,
how many times
did I look back?

I went down the hill
and stood at the water's edge.

And
looked back.

On the hill,
a house.

Before it,
a man
was looking this way.