Hoonte

Close to the windows is the theater of trees.
Insects make streaks along the panes
and butterflies tumble about each other's booty.
A plump dove flies in the green crater

of leaves, a diver under the water,
and emerges a bit later just as old.
Life, bumped up against this décor,
becomes as I stand and look here, a play.

Never have I enjoyed nature more
than here in Hoonte in the East country.
'Maria farmstead' this old house is called.

Here the moment is given sufficient size
and background, an eternity of open canvas
for the imagining of paradise.