Third day, early morning fog, 

still, ninety-seven left, 

on the calendar of being half.

A struggling sun, a sleeping dog,

3 strings on my knee,

social media is having a laugh.

Seeking for words to hold on,

but the Dutch I used to know,

is turned into sounds I don’t get.

The world that once was, foregone,

language a bastardization of expression,

their way of communicating feels like a threat.

Missing the one who understands,

the words we don’t express.

For all I know is the comfort of pain,

the uncomfortableness of compliments

and the love that makes them bearable.

*****