From ‘No Other Way', No. 10 Poem by Jan Baeke

Motionless. On the other hand
the body turned over along a line of trees
skipping thoughts, a wandering line.

The city grows smaller, needs more than little fields
wants rust and litter
and a subsiding road
between vacated chapels.

Little bright fires between the hills
as long as the sun tolerates a lack of distinction.
Children with impermeable skin colours
shout among the washing.

Perhaps a hotel bill, a napkin
branded with escape routes.
In a bright pool
almost tangible who smokes the same cigarettes.

Wintry light
and milk on the horizon
to sketch hours of thinking
by heart, after nature
summarising, rhyming, orpine, crop damage.

Translation: 2008, Willem Groenewegen