Random words gently gliding by, like little rivers of thought merging, dividing, and sliding down my skin. And then suddenly, after all these years... a little poem halts and stares. I jump and stumble to get away from my safe water world to sit down behind my desk and write swiftly, creating little splashes of ink. I'm thinking of a bigggg boatman, who promised to take me sailing. It is windy outside and I want to leave port.
't waait, 't zwaait,
't ruist, 't bruist,
mijn hart klopt hard,
mijn hart klopt diep,
van onder wel,
van boven niet...
