For a moment the ticking time stopped
of course we lived, but yesterday
became tomorrow reflected in today.

The plaintive ooh...oooh dove cried for hours
a background, repetitive, reliable soft sound
nothing wrong with omitting a day.

Sweltering sun, shadows green and black
nothing special, just ooh...oooh. Oh that dove
crying for a mate, lost yesterday, not even there tomorrow.

I killed a mosquito; will he be missed?
Will another mosquito cry for him, ashamed wearing sunglasses?
Mosquito-tears, what do they look like?

His mother now, no more his wife. A fleeting kiss in public
not allowed. "Aw Mom no! What will they think?"
A sigh in the sun. It's time to allow the clock to tick.

Marjon van Bruggen
May 2018