Wednesday 3 November 2021

Robin Veen: 'Vier seizoenen'




The cemetery wakes up in a haze of tender green.

Blackbirds practise aubades in the trees.

Above the graves a sparrow hawk hovers.

The fieldmouse dies a thousand deaths

and I gouge your name in an oak tree’s bark.


A butterflies swirls ahead of me.

Fed by death the leaves rustle.

A shadow hoes silence to and fro,

weeding the restlessness in my head.

Here I would like to bury time for good.


Squalls of rain slash her name

carved in stone. Gold leaf falls round the memory,

forming a blanket for winter sleep.

An air ambulance hangs already above the motorway.

In the distance I hear clocks striking.


Only the wind moves among

the bare branches. The rotting covering of leaves

muffles my steps away from the silence.

The covering decays to nerves. Earth to earth.

Dust returns to dust.

To see the original poem, go to here

No comments: