shapedrifters

A man exits a grocery store in Reichenberger Strasse, Berlin. He looks down, and then halfway tilts his head upwards.
He has a half crooked smile and grey hair shining like an electrical fan in the sunlight.

Actually, he looks a lot like Leonard Cohen, entering the stage in Helsingborg one summer afternoon two years ago.
Looking down, and then halfway tilting his head upwards. Greeting the choir girls, who greets him back and send him
kisses from the palms of their hands. He greets the bouzouki player, who looks like a reflection of Cohen in Hydra,
ca 1965. Cohen looks, the bouzouki player looks, Axel Jensen looks, and something disappears only to return. And
the other way around. The sun is almost blue. Cohen greets the audience, and we almost forget to greet him back,
being spellbound by his half crooked smile we instead smile half-crookedly back at him. Respectfully imitating that
which we can not be.

The man in Reichenberger Strasse also greets, half-crookedly, and lifts his phantom hat in salutation, either to me or
some phantom friend just passing by. He takes two steps and halts. I am the audience. He turns and questions the air,

«Did I, did I forget anything?»

Just like Leonard Cohen.

The shop keeper places a hand on the maestro's shoulder, and respectfully asks him, knowing that he is disturbing a
genius at work,

«Excuse me sir, is that your dog tied to that bicycle rack?»