Jos De Haes Poems

Things I've never understood,
not the dynamo, not hate,
not the skill of a pinch that was good.
Or Christ - but for that it's too late.
...

In between two Brabantine hills
history is ground down to dirt.
No stone, no clod but has a sense,
but it has hart a hand, a heart.
...

Navel of God's earth. From our seat
we hear sparrow hawks descend and drink.
The sound's like metals that clink
and melt in an azure heat.
...

Washed up with the layer of today,
bleeding over the slivers of schist,
we flow down asleep on our way,
our pores filled with seed and yeast.
...

Is a well amid wet grass the road abuts.
A layer of humus where oak beams once stood
gives two clumps of wild loosestrife the guts
to stand up tall like trees within a wood.
...