Het Nieuwe VrijMiBo
My father's thoughts seemed scribbled
on little pieces of paper and shaken in a hat
from which he would choose at random
one mysterious remark or another.
One day watching a sparrow
fashioning a nest behind a drainpipe,
he wept as though it were a sight
of rarest beauty.
Have you ever seen a shoe on the side of the road
and wondered who it belonged to?
he asked me, and I knew
it belonged to someone like him.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.