In unity
there has to be a world of missing thingsin which a glove, in haste forgotten,
becomes involved with an old daily,
a scarf, a handkerchief or a comb.
the glove no longer misses the hand,
the handkerchief needs no distress,
even the scarf isn't interested in the warmth
of nannies and of mothers.
- all that is missing, is in unity.
but tendernes that became redundant,
the goosepimpels that whished to stay,
the first wet dream, the dumbest beloved,
the playing of a child that died.
and make believe one can forget it all,
although, unlooked-for as a human being,
one must be in the universe alone.
Vertaling: Ria Leigh-Loohuizen
