Joris Iven |
HEIST-AAN-ZEE (THE WATERSHED)
1 Looking back
The marram grass in the dunes bends almost double In the wind, eastwards towards the house Of my youth, which now stands empty by the sea, Getting more dilapidated every day: The woodworm gnaws in the beams, which bend Like grass under an invisible load, And sand trickles through the network of thin laths, Like the dust from worm-eaten wood; The day is cold in years and my youth drops, Like the waves beyond the house in the dunes, With a soft murmur.
· Essays · Toneel |