Recurrent Dream

Inside a harbor inn Where fateful voyages begin An old man waits for me… I enter, recklessly. The barmaid brings the jug And pours him out a frothy mug, And lights a lamp for him To read by, in the dim. The old man wears a mask; I hear him humorously ask “Perhaps you care to look Inside my ledger book?” Instead, I flee that place— For he unmasked a grinning face Whose every crease and line Was mine, was mine, was mine.