For Bert Schierbeek
It’s raining, the last of the flowers are
letting go, but people are blooming.
Hölderlin briefly reads clearly
then clouds over: curtains are shut
during the daytime. Doors close
without a keyhole. It’s raining hard.
And yet: humans believe that the world is
getting better, women draw a lipstick
and no revolver. Women bathe children,
but the sky turns their water black.
And yet: time unreels to give people
extra time and now Hölderlin will chuckle a bit
about the last pears. Although he’s mistaken:
it is his madness dancing to ashes’ tune.
It’s raining, the last flowers are
strewing children on the old earth.
And Hölderlin pores over his poem,
scratches some words, drinks and prays.