At the scene of the crime

There was no need for you to be there.

I wanted arms, a head
and other parts of your body,
on the days leading up to today.

But now,
Ribs, knives,
Have cut you out of the centre.

I look down and am not bleeding.
I look again and you are gone.


Some sleep would be welcome now, but I am waiting for the last page in this week's social life magazine: jaunting with my sister and her husband.
This week I celebrated my 1st full year of living in Ostend and for that occasion this town had put on a wonderful dress. She looked like my mother, for the first time it felt like home.

There were concerts and plays, jesters and clowns, music all night long. It's the time of the year on which anyone would come over to hang around the beach and watch some street theater or a band playing for free. You open up a bottle and - - - damn does this water taste sweet!

I had friends over for dinner last night. Old ones, for whom my love is deep, many-splendoured. The ones that love me back in a family way. I feel suspiciously cheesy. And again a bit queasy. Might be I need to get off the wine, the late nights out. Next time, I will be wise.