There is something, It

is earthly, I sense it, shreds --


of a mystery.

A feather over

circles in the town canal --


Domestic wildlife.

Alas, making love

is the worst, so self-conscious --


we are, both of us.

The night sky is full

of thunder-strokes and lightning --


from my intentions.

I unravel us,

paralysed you are waiting --


until it's over.

The Spartan women,

sitting on the salty shore --


are combing their hair.

I hesitate to

address him, so intensely --


wearily he smiles.

After our working day we look
at the Beautiful World, where
duties and rules do not apply
and the Stars can shine

We look up to them
We see that it exists
and that is a comfort, especially
if there is something to gossip about

There may be more
than admiration, entertainment
conveniences and wealth, but
that doesn't buy me anything

Certainly not happiness
if one is not as rich
as the Stars are
made by us

I pick up plants from the street and slow down
Caring with soil, scissors and cotton wool
I slow down and cook, for him, and with him
everything else slows down. I don't do much

At first wilfully, daily exercises
and meditation, my body asked for it
Attention

Esther covered my skin, he caresses
it, he catches my navel lint
Childish games, silly jokes
Giggling like a lama

Cuddling, energy
from the sun behind my clouds
Peace of on and off buttons

The slower ******* and spitting
of the ganglia in my head
No more overdrive
All neural pathways know it

He caresses her

tenderly in the moonlight --


at least her shadow.

Eavesdropping always

changes something, except when --


it's done secretly.

I pity old friends:

the old memories they share --


can be so hurtful.

There are no treasures:

all people are different --


in their own wishes.

At parties I try

to leave soon, always longing --


for festivity!

I like the attic,

sitting in the armchair, in --


front of the window.

Gold chips on the street

can't be real, such a party --


would be pathetic.

Everything that we

humans can touch is sacred --


Sacred Emptiness.

Yet your desires too

move on large wheels -- do not run


over anyone!

I sweep up the shards

of my feelings, it's more soul --


than I expected.

Clouds passing over

the sun give life to the floor --


it breathes up and down.

In times when you're bored,

you just don't know what to do --


with your vague desires.

Thousands of slaves of The Saviour run
bent over to a place to sit, belly to buttock
nose in the back, sections full of light pink
shoulders under the violet
shaved crowns

to open the brain
under sun and moon
to the Great Soul
and to gain self-knowledge
from the mirrors around you

the exchangeable bodies that
under the discipline of loneliness
among silent fellow sufferers
no longer can die
from everyday life's dangers

Everywhere you see yourself
among the hard faces
of armed guards
and you cling to
the changing of the light

the rustle of rain and
scents brought by the wind
"He laughs best who laughs last"
But what kind of laugh is that?
A laugh which is not shared...

The ordinary

is in slow motion simply --


nothing but beauty.

Here I lie, no respiratory mask
There is a little wind
I get too little air

to talk, no energy
My body is busy
eliminating the virus

I have no strength for anything
don't even fancy nuts or chocolates
just sleep, I would like to sleep

And wake up well rested
In bed next to you. I go too far
I'll only go to sleep after you have left

There are few colours, high veils
no thunderstorm in the air, no birds
From above I see us lying

Our breath is exactly the same
Five meters apart, we are
not really trespassing

I haven't caught your little bird yet

It is getting dark, we walk away
from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down

The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you

pretend not to attract attention
knowing that
our skin is glowing for more

Your body shines
sculpted tensely
like a Greek god

I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away

but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand

We don't do any-

thing, we avoid rejection --


avoid rapprochement.

Winter light eats the wide hill
ever barer, buzzards hover over

the headstones in the fertile soil
which for centuries bore olive trees

The souls are elsewhere, where Israel
takes them, the remains perish

in black cloths, to be the first people
to enter the new world on the day

the gate of mercy opens
That is what the dead have lived

and fought for, for that
they have won against the god of war

they have conquered the city, with the source
that breaks out of the earth

Jerusalem, where I suffer
from divided togetherness

Will children of my grandchildren
collect their bones, honour them and

grow olives here again
with sky-high twigs of peace?

The wind blows, the trees

are bare and wet, the full moon --


glides pale behind them.

Eight pumps Premium,

one pump Regular: the world --


is turned upside down.

One two, up we go!

Together we do pippop --


perthepop, hooray!

Would the alehoof and

creeping-flower wish to flee?


From my weeding hand?

Vernal cathedral:

wide open are the doorways --


of the tall beech lane.

We were once ashamed

together, now I'm ashamed --


of you, against you.

Only if I don't pay attention
I see my thoughts
reflected in the world

and myself as a full moon
in the light of mankind
with, here and there, some spots

of defects, blood
shrinkage and disability
and shadows of bragging

then I know myself so light
as if I were the sun
as if it were me

who makes the moons shine
and the seagulls scream out
the day over the canal

Only now that I pay attention
I see the moons of my life
we are old

my thoughts and I, my world
from the new to the old moon

Mind what you see
then you see your life
from the new to the old moon

Those in power no longer torture
a palace guard to rob a garden
from abroad for their lusts

no, nowadays money is enough
the magnetic big money
which always finds servants

Look closely at this painting
the colors are darker, and old
is the paint skin, forever

masterful are the brush strokes
yet this matter is only
just an attachment

for the trade in big names
the derivatives of art
with which profit is spoken

The moon shines sorrow

into me, yet I'm looking --


through a haze of tears.

As a child I roamed

the grounds, barefoot through puddles --


and I still do that.

It takes a while
before it will be over
with room for someone else
For now it is too empty

where you have always been
People soon forget that
when we have a chat
and laugh at something small

Your mother is great
She does what she can do
so without a man
You know the drill

the neighbour mows the lawn
He's really old
time and again he asks
where you have gone

But if I had known it beforehand
I would just as well have been in love
just as well be that woman
still in love with you

The world a maze
under the nut tree
in this well-arranged garden

Follow a path
learn how it goes
what is important

Travel with strangers
experiencing the secret
with our senses

And reach further
re-create the world
beyond our lives

This is our world
how it was and can be
carefully we reach

For beauty and stories
we reach
for contact

With other lives
we connect
we connect
from heart to heart

I am as the phrase

goes, deep in thought, pondering --


just about nothing.

The forget-me-not

on your grave sows on your grave --


more forget-me-nots.

I'm wearing flowers,

coarse, prickly, it doesn't matter --


I want to bleed them.

Vividly coloured

straw flowers in the snowfield --


but they do not smell.

The dear family

photo, with a golden edge --


of melancholy.

When I am with you,

so close that I become you --


I sing myself out.

Closing time, the farewell
almost over, the seats free
the table full, the glasses empty

I have to go, I'm leaving
Don't look at me like that, you
old singers in old frames

It's quiet on the street, I'm going
The moon is shining, we are turning
back to the sun already

The dogs stand
The scent of our love
has evaporated

The sheets are cold
Put an extra blanket
over your memory

Her pious father

locks me up and my girlfriend --


he pulls to the bed.

Come and sit with us,

just take that chair over there --


standing all alone.

Seawater gently

rinses the washed grains of sand --


No flood to be seen.

Her neck, I remember
was a round ivory tower
not too short, not too long

Snow-white skin
Snow White her name
Who would not love her!

Oh, her shoulders, firm
and soft her arms and legs
round ******* and hips

straight back, perfect beauty
Magic mirror on the wall
who is beloved by all?

We all wished to know her
and hear words from her mouth
that bear witness to our existence

If she was only there
then I could hope
to love her someday