TRAIN
The wind-swept plain
is a desolate place
Pasture edge posts
what grazes there
rages here
separated by
barbed wire
Them over there, us here
clarity is shaped
we drive they bleat
And at the sight
of a potato ridge
resting on the land
I am certain
grazing is a gift.
© Tjitse
Hofman, 2000
© translation
Willem Groenewegen, 2001