and on the other hand, as soon as I had lived over again that bliss, as though it were present, feeling it shot through by the certainty, throbbing like a physical anguish, of an annihilation that had effaced my image of that affection, had destroyed that existence, abolished in retrospect our interwoven destiny, made of my grandmother at the moment when I found her again as in a mirror, a mere stranger whom chance had allowed to spend a few years in my company, as it might have been in anyone’s else, but to whom, before and after those years, I was, I could be nothing.

我們是彼此的過客，有的只是自己（抑或連自己也沒有？）
有時，也忍不住一再問，走了的人究竟去了哪裡．
如果生命循環往復，我們又憑什麽相認．

詩人說：池塘的倒影也許／總模糊不清／認識這影像．

可以嗎？我使勁地想．
一陣風吹過，又一陣風，濃濃的雲團慢慢散開，拉成一抺抺輕紗，隨風飄去．