Portrait of a Young Man
by Niels Frank—after Giovanni Bellini
In the affectionate dream hair grows everywhere, welcome
to the first stage of love. Look out
for the perilous dream! It will haunt you in the slightest darkness,
leaky as a sewer. Five hundred years from now the clouds
have become digital and your gaze sliced up in small squares, predicts
the prophetic dream. Images within images within images.
Nothing will resemble anything. The ironic dream
pats itself on the shoulder, old boy, then you too
died. In the pious dream, stowed away in a corner,
the light paints your face so that finally you look like yourself.
Don’t write about me! the bitter dream shouts
and closes its door. The absent-minded dream full of flicker
gets itself mixed up with a shadow, there is nothing to hide behind here,
even if just an identity. In the fever dream everyone wears
transparent, greasy masks. You came back to it
as to a parallel universe and immediately knew
that you were him.