Love at First Sight by Wislawa Szymborska.

Part 2 of 2.

Not

quite yet ready to change into destiny, which brings them nearer and yet further, cutting their path and stifling a laugh,
escaping ever further;
There were songs, indications,
undecipherable, what does it matter.
Three years ago, perhaps
or even last Tuesday,
this leaf flying from one shoulder to another?
Something lost and gathered.
Who knows, perhaps a ball already in the bushes, in childhood?

There were handles, door bells, where, on the trace of a hand, another hand was placed; suitcases next to one another in the left luggage.
And maybe one night the same dream forgotten on walking;

But every beginning is only a continuation and the book of fate is always open in the middle.