what frays and blossoms
out of the dancing city the ears full of beepout of the dance the hips in sway out of the city the soul a frayed edge is growing in the soul of the city do we applaud the edge? a frayed night is blossomingdo we seize the night before the torches have been planted? the bat goes to the edge, the splashing wavethe mustard-yellow cloud cover, the moon – it’s circulating out of the blossoming night to awaken in greenout of the blossom the ruffled hairout of the night the tumble they point handheld torches at the tumbling in the nightdo we jeer at the hand? they establish a corps of torchesdo we tolerate the corps while the frayed edge flourishes?
From: Hélène Gelèns,
zet af en zweef
(take off and float), Uitgeverij Cossee, Amsterdam 2010Translation: Willem Groenewegen