A football match

not the beautifully worked out attack ending in a sudden galvanising flash, but the little boy on a patch of grass behind the spectators playing his own game, the dog among those nameless backs snuffling around the waste ground, the torn trampled tickets in the well-combed grass and above the rock-hard winter sky: only here…

Density

Haze. Now don’t speak. Much is kept silent. Little is much. Barely the word barely moves in the wind which is nowhere. Now don’t speak. Don’t erase anything. On the same plane of evening. Against which scarcely and nowhere.   Density Nevel. Zeg nu niets. Veel is verzwegen. Weinig is veel. Amper beweegt het woord…

Brueghel

a bird, sitting on a branch of a tree in a winter landscape like in a painting by Brueghel, has a meaning one need seek no further than in its sharp black presence against the white occurrence of a space; as though a bird defines what visibly surrounds us and illuminates it; but does a…