TWO DAUGHTERS Poem by Willem van Toorn

In the sleepy early morning
I see them as they ride
down the tree-lined track, side by side:
off to the village, A and S, my daughters.

If I was able to draw
you'd see an imprint appear before
your eyes, a picture in
which they'd be frozen: their hair, ever so thin
(they've almost reached the end,
where the road to the village begins),
blowing in the wind
under a misty sun.

Now you'll have to take
a few of my words for it. Look,
the glint of a bell or spoke.
In through the open window slides
a tight-stretched ribbon of light.

They're behind the trees. But you're seeing
their windblown hair still streaming
inside your head. And listen: the sound of their bikes
is whispering behind your eyes.

Of all that exists in this greenery
they're easily the dearest to me:
A and S. Do you see them?
Then you can close this poem.

Set down inside your head
they won't disappear just yet.