4 april 2020, limburg
look! another cold spring night is past
grass drops its frosty mantle,
but, people are still locked up
in their heads, murmuring:
‘ we are not immortals! ’
sky on the other hand, audibly clear,
it reflects even on the pebbles in the river,
earth’s breath, rhythmic,
adrift, a tiger’s silhouette,
breeze, unobstructed.
i see a wagtail on a gravestone,
maybe praying: ‘ let the rain come! ’