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Poems

Mynheer Wouwermans

20 September 2014

9:00 AM

20 September 2014

9:00 AM

From the long ride, fresh trees
licked by enough blue light
to cross-patch antique trousers,

we come at last past casks
head-dressed with tulips
to this puzzling concourse

where white signs agree to open
a house decked by strangers
with an attentive love.


‘Mynheer, do you remember?
Yes, twenty-five years.

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