Tink net yn eksekúsjes,
mar yn post mortem-ereksjes
Wie de dei mar net.
De dage hat wer in loft,
syn fûgels opeaske.
Fan myn brânsteapel ôf
besjoch ik de brutsen nekken.
Ienris stie dit stee
fjildblommen ta –
neat slimmer as kniesde
fjildblommen. Djoerleave
dage, deademasker
dêr’t ik oan wend
rekke bin, toan my
ien moai ding
net swierder
as in kolibry.
Instead of Executions,
Think Death Erections
I wish the day hadn’t.
Dawn has claimed
another sky, its birds.
I watch from my burning
stake the broken necks.
Once, this lot
allowed wildflowers—
nothing worse than bruised
wildflowers. Darling
dawn, death mask
in which I’ve grown
accustomed, show me
one pretty thing
no heavier
than a hummingbird.
Ut Ordinary Beast, Ecco, New York 2017. Oernommen mei tastimming fan de auteur.
