Holland, they say …

The soil was marshy. We sang about the lush green grass. What did we know? One island further on as proof of this the Biesbosch lay. Mudflats and silt were closer still. I never went there. I sat in the class, sung of a land that lay almost beneath the waves. At ebb my brother…

Two Poems

The Free Fall of Days There is in intervals of expectancy no pit so shallow that the soul fails to tumble in: the phlox that are no roses, cloudlessly raining, bronze that crumbles like stale cakes, empty portraiture before a breathed-on mirror, your pale eyes which, said Baudelaire, convey the tempest of a passion in…

At Sea

I looked at you you looked at nothing you’d something special with the sea its hissing roar stole you away from me your eyes I said they are so blue you closed them then I asked myself what you were thinking you lay so quiet I couldn’t hear you breathe I said I’d write a…

The Great Flood

two days on the roof, she said lately, but yes, they left the hospital much later still I was eight, just, my brother four – I don’t know as many fairy stories now as then: Mother Hulda was a godsend on the roof was there much water in her well? he loved questions like that,…