the sea is a ruin, country and state
still exist, spring for the second time
this year, grass lies rotting downtown
no one disturbs the grass rotting
there is calm in the grass rotting
the storm cleared the grass
the rubble remained
leave the rubble, Hanneke
the eye in the storm is calm
grass rots dry in the ditches
the mourning must be over
calm reigns in the land of ruins
where the residents have not returned
we can wait till the equator
is equalized, rustic and wide open
the sea is a ruin, a very broad bed
the poles have dislodged themselves
from their frozen bodies of ice