Surge

 I know flowers to be funeral companions

they make poisons and venoms

and eat abandoned stone walls

 

I know flowers shine stronger

than the sun

their eclipse means the end of

times

 

but I love flowers for their treachery

their fragile bodies

grace my imagination’s avenues

 

without their presence

my mind would be an unmarked

grave.

Dordrecht

Your sky always slightly

blue

Morning often slightly

wet

Lovely Dordrecht

Tomb

Of my precious illusions

When I try to draw

Your canals, your roofs, your steeple

I feel I could love

A homeland

Still sun and church bells

Dry out quickly

For high mass, also brioches

And gleaming steeple

Your sky

So often wet,

But always underneath

A bit stays blue.