standing still in water
in their frame of basalt from former times:
the poles, like gentlemen turned into stone
staring over water to the cranes of the old wharf
where builders once built giant boats
and launched them from the concrete slope
in front of their frozen faces: the field
full of forgotten species, where no seeds have been sown
no paths have been trodden, no roads and no shops and no aims
then aimlessly wandering, there, and dancing, or forgetting.
let these heads remain forgotten
as stubborn characters in a neglected field
as a pause in the breath of the restless city.
-written for Stichting Het Stenen Hoofd, july 2017-