'Do you know where you are going to?
Do you like the things that life is showing you?'

the way it is, today
my own life today
softly singing on

my way to the next
crossing in the park
knowing where I'm going

left or right, always
back to friends
with whom I'm happy

Even if I don't participate
with the neighbours, all of Brussels
Berlin, Beyrouth, and Beijing

I still participate
but otherwise, living
close to myself

indoors "viewless"
today's life, softly
singing on my way

You're getting older,

tomorrow is not at all --


the day that would come.

The canal is green today
grey in the evening twilight
the precolour of winter

Running engines, winter coats and
heat lamps, little red spots
on the skin of the city

We want to vibrate
not repose with the supplies
We bring light and green into our homes

into the insides
of our existence
an eager feeling

no boredom, no tardy time
no long fixed hours
in the low sun's sidelight

We make plans in autumn
we clean up in spring
we repose in summer

Complementary to the season
we feel that we are alive
An eager feeling

The fulfillment of a wish
is a brief happiness, a happy
ending, when you die after it
or get started, with something new
a next phase or a next step

For a lasting Happy End, the hereafter
has been invented, and the consolation
one derives from descendants
with the thought that later, some day
everything will be fine

Till you're going to understand
that life seems pointless
because everything goes on
without general happiness ahead

but that we can also do without
the high of an illusion and go along
with the stream and its dynamics
that never close anything

Wherever I stay,

the trees from home keep growing --


growing in my heart.

Well, people die, and

then we are sad for a while --


till the sun returns.

Writers do not write

to live, they write in the hope --


of learning to die.

Adam mapped it out
in the sand: the river
flows to the middle

of the day, opposite
are the mountains, steady
in place

although they seem to float
like clouds on which the wind
has no hold

We followed the river
Life became harder
with worries about the children

and the grandchildren
I wouldn't have wanted to miss it
Only Abel, oh Abel

who was so prideful
to believe thoughtlessly
that he knew better

Dressed in mama's nightgown
skating in the middle of the street
and making long journeys
with trains in the attic, yet
if someone later says

...It was already there
...you know, don't you?
...Twelve years old...
...two four six eight ten
...who is not gone, is seen

...just look around you:
...people are on their way
...all of them passengers
...in a private seat joining
...the flight to the same

...the travel rules are clear
...put on the safety belts
...for extras, you have to pay
...but love and fate
...are nowhere for sale

then shrug your shoulders
and start talking about something else
because reason demands that
you don't take anything personally
even if it is about you

I squat against a high wall
hands in my head
slide to twelve

I'm there, I'm not there
Smoke, journey, resting place
full moon

Buzzing, six, sixteen
times I come in
water reflections

Rattling wallpaper
Thumb after thumb I put
a stamp upon the days

Winds blow past
everything is blue
yes, everything

sharp blue
and pink in the world
of the children