Praises come through the speakers.
Someone says, Turn it down.
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I’ve yet to let
Go what’s gone.
In me the dead
will seed the dawn.
The flower of
this earthly wire
will climb to God
and then expire.
Moeders komen eraan
Falling
The heart’s a cloud in its very own sky —
Blotting its source
and cooling but why?
Leaving the library
How it isn’t now, and is
Detail from Willem Arnold Witsen, Wintergezicht Oosterpark, Amsterdam (Singer Laren)
Certain players had moved on
This finally would be the year
of game-winners and accolades.
And so I rose early to prepare,
pounded down the dark road
before the long day of work and school,
hating the road,
hating the fear and weakness within.
Imagistic
Portrait at Leiduin
Utrecht Journal 