At the food forest in Stiens
I choose black currants and pick an apple
take a bite and am just thinking of you
when a deep bark rips the sky,
a jet fighter taking a short cut
over town, its metal weight
pressing down on my ears

as it disappears out of sight
behind the tall trees
I squash one of the currants flat
soon the little sounds will come back:
the blue dragonfly  hiding in the hedge,
boys footballing by the canal,
teeth crunching into an apple

I know this machine will not
be dropping bombs on us, but still
I shudder, and turn away
towards the white tower
on the terp at Britsum

Translation: David Colmer