Early in the morning he wanders through the city.
The silence is unnerving, and quickly the street
raises empty eyes to the face
of an old twilight on the other side,
a vacant expression, as if seen in a mirror.
He follows the canal,
dead water still sleeping in the bronze bed
between the wharves. No sun beleaguers
the secret of fish in the moldy darkness
under the bridge hung with honesty.
The trees are silent, leaves hold their breath,
restrain the lisping story that shines through,
that would endlessly repeat itself
and fears the incursion of the dawn.
Poem by dutch poet Hendrik Marsman
