They walked past us along the dyke
– aging couple: she was unsure how to walk,
he held her arm, she wore her shades;
they looked worried, you looked at them.
How did you look yourself along this dyke?
What was bubbling inside you skull?
What did you hide behind your eyes?
They keep shut a lot lately.
So do your mouth, your heart, your soul.
The reason is well-known to you,
it is well-known to me too,
it makes itself obvious and shrill.
What struck the most as they walked past
was that they were not aged so much at all.
They were no more than ten or fifteen years older
than what we are, or what we look.
I did not hold your arm that day,
you would have been too embarrassed.
You walked near me, you looked ahead,
something you’ve done for some weeks now.
Sometimes you also glare into the past,
or look at it with nostalgia
and let the shadow of a tear drop roll
along your lid, along your cheek.
How I feel doesn’t matter.
Though I’m heavy with doubt and dread.
As heavy as a forklift truck
carrying a dead weight along with it.
Love should ease all burden.
Love does indeed, has done so far.
Will love be strong enough to lift
that oppressive mood much longer?