Ghent, five o'clock
The best in him sometimes stops
between two cars he wanted
to drive on, but waits and will
no more, so much loss is coming
at him and pushes him down.Is that
the way it goes? No, he stares and stares
and asks himself, but sane
in body and heart he is driving on.
Until another look stops him again
the first blue of the evening
an hour that lies on its side
between others, and he, old yet
is lying with it, meek in his
innocence, he closes his arms
he hushes his head in
a movement of patience
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