Goodbye

I'm not lost. Here where the sheep think

they are half gods. I'm not lost. That is

also not possible because I am born here.

Here on the comforting bottom of the sea.

Where the soil still tastes like smoked eel.

Where the clouds are as raw as the beards

of the skippers. If I'm not lost. Then this

is home. This ground is real life. A bliss?

What can I expect? What can I find in

the shadows of the windmills. In the lee

of the shy summer dikes. An intention?

An explanation? Of why my dreams are

so blue? Why my desires are so excited?

Why I start to stutter when I simply stare.

When I look around me. What can I do?

The horizon blushes like a naked truth.