Language For each occasion, love has its own language. For example: that soft lightness of your temple against my shoulder or the haste of your dress to fall

A Song What shall I say to the birds picking away at my thoughts wishing to gain wings to fly like democracy past temples and castles over rivers

Poetry recital by Germain Droogenbroodt in Italian and Dutch at the Villa Reale de Monza, Italy Sunday, 21 st May 2017  

 BUT I KNOW If I were a butterfly before my birth a tree or a star I’ve forgotten But I know that I was and will be Moments

Come back often and take hold of me, sensation that I love come back and take hold of me— when the body’s memory awakens and an old longing

I escape into your magic tent love In the breathing forest where grass tops are bowing Because there is nothing more beautiful Rose Ausländer (1901 – 1988) Translation

 Beholding the stars until daybreak, with its morning red, closes the iris of the nightexperience the dreamed dream not only as a dreambut read the veins in the

I am the sand of the desert a desert of thirst. Your mouth is an oasis where I cannot drink. Mouth: oasis open to all the sand of

She wept in the morning She wept at noon She wept in the evening At morning she lost a son At noon she lost another At evening she

Left as memories on the leaves of a poppy the butterfly’s wings *** Motionless the pond a frog jumping suddenly splashing of water *** The early light rain