Being in love, with a smile, not blind
to our differences, the life that lies
behind us and the preferences

that, with the fortunate lack
of temerity, are difficult to convince
of the taste and wisdom of others
- heard very, very benevolently
and without indulgence, found
charming, yes, longing for more
content and more togetherness

in the phase that lies ahead, our choices
to be joined softly and smoothly
in shared open spaces

Another new birth,

another programmed clotting --


of exploded cells.

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

Clouds passing over

the sun give life to the floor --


it breathes up and down.

After the **** breach,

somewhere in the water, still --


a howling siren.

I don't have a hold,

my mind's floating in the sky --


rootless like seaweed.

Grandpa is bony,

his mouth speaks clearly, even --


though he says nothing.

Without falling I get

ahead of my legs, it is --


quite an exercise!

Flowers wilt, even

if they are out of the sun --


and made of paper.

The chicks are dancing

around drolly in their shells --


their thick diapers.

I flounder, hanging

over grandpa's leg, hello --


super shiny shoes!

Pulling slowly, I

sing my sensitive skin out --


of the sticky shade.

I count all my friends

and am left with five fingers --


to shake hands with you!

The sky is clear blue,

the day is new, I am free --


from expectations.

Forgive me, I won't

demand so much anymore --


and then receive more.

The world is too tight,

would I be too big for it --


or can it still grow?

Progress is the storm

that has risen at the gates --


of Eden's garden.

Keep carrying me

till you have to lay me down --


till I let you go.

To reconcile us

I sing appropriate words --


the old well-known song.

The ground beneath her

feet has taken her, the earth --


whose praises I sang.

They are just shouting

back and forth, then continue --


mumbling to themselves.

The underwater

***** takes a breath, gurgles --


and splutters out tones.

A golden story

is not forged of sparkling truth --


It shines with deceit.

With a clean duster,

the maid goes around the house --


waving like a queen.

You cry in your sleep,

that is a side of yourself --


that you don't know yet.

The palace houses

parties, madness, betrayal --


Still it does remain.

Sell your cleverness

for the messy confusion --


of wisdom of life.

In the big city,

one person's ceiling is an-


other person's floor.

Outside the village,

we let the local bus pass --


the stop, our club house.

The sense of human

suffering is awareness:


global attention.

While talking, we find

in our circular thoughts what --


we already knew.

I'm losing myself,

to go back, go back to you --


in your arms again.

She calls a street street,

but does not know bridges, and --


does not know dead ends.

Princes, princesses,

like everyone, each of us --


is an honoured guest.

I don't want it yet,

not to go home already --


please, can I clean up?

People are laughing,

maybe about me, about --


something I didn't say?

I lick everything

and I still can't make a choice --


what I feel like now.

There are mists haunting

over the swampy heathland --


I don't dare go home.

Listening seance:

rubbing hands, clicking tongues, and --


loud shuffling of shoes.

With dry pods and bags

filled with granules we're rising --


little whirls of wind.

You still live in your

body, yet I no longer --


find you at home there.

The citizens talk

down the lime trees: they're dripping --


honey every year.

The vague liquid pain

that you can't point out at all --


must be sad feelings.

I have woken up,

where am I? In an ocean --


of sleeping silence?

Dawn: the world takes on

colours, becomes lifelike, but --


remains elusive.

Seawater gently

rinses the washed grains of sand --


No flood to be seen.

That's sheep John, Rita's

husband is also called that --


Weird for a person!

The slowed down breathing

of the towering water --


walls of the ocean.

Daddy, can we leave?

Do you know what's for dinner?


Can I choose it, please?

A thought is super-

ficial, not so is an act,


an experience.