PIGEONS

If only we hadn’t rushed headlong into things,
the notes of our score might still be intact.

The requiem blew right off the high-rise, a stray
flock of birds from the wires by the sugar refinery.

Entwined, we caressed in a single fleshless breath.
A house of stone filled to overflowing, then burst.

It began to rain again. I listened to two pigeons
cooing in our cul-de-sac and fed them the tears.

DOWEN

DOWEN

Hie it hoeden west, miskien hie it net
de rigels fan ús noateskrift skansearre.

It requiem waaide fan ’e flat, ôfdwaalde
fûgelkloft út de triedden om it bytfabryk.

Frissele frijden wy yn azem sûnder fleis.
In hûs fan stien streamde fol, bruts ôf.

It reinde wer. Ik harke nei de twa dowen
yn ús bline stege, fuorre har de triennen.