And then, – not suddenly,
but unexpectedly still –,
Like a silverfish jiggling in the knife box,
Hope returns.
Last night, in the clear wintery sky, against a backdrop
Of half a Dreamworks-moon, and stars,
A blackbird sang purposefully, almost too purposefully.
Who was he trying to impress except – perhaps – me?
In the messy backyard it quivered on a branch
Just a few yards from me
Looking right and left, or nowhere in particular;
Singing, and being content with that.
‘What are you doing outside,
Come in for dinner,’
my wife implored.
This morning, my daughter and I
Heard a woodpecker, but we couldn’t spot it.
It was annoyingly unspottable in the large tree
On the other side of the river, pecking, – pocking –,
Working on a coffin, no less.
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Wat fijn dat jullie er zijn