That I might see
Is there an icon of eyes
of the dove
wings wide
just above the shoulder –
and of in the eyes
that branch
buried in the heart of Jesus?
All my worthless dying
Not to myself, just dying
Piles of roofs
Coming home
Train to Leeuwarden
The ego needs proof till its dying day
Yes it made sense: you made sense of it.
You slept with and solved every problem,
etching equations in glass verified
by daylight and the empty space beside you.
The night was your cloudy mind projected –
against it you appointed pointless sticks
to a pointless fire –
your altar to you, but you did it because
you could.
Dutch graveyard
Dutch church
God parks desire in a drafty garage
Hands you the keys.
A soul should wilt but you won’t.
You’ll drive till the end of time
and when you’re done
you’ll put it back here.
Utrecht Journal 