Brussels

It is a quiet sadness

which comes over me

i look at dead leaves of yesteryear

4 pigeons

flapping their wings

noisily

across 4 adjacent strips of garden

like 4 girlfriends

lined up

at the beach

those pigeons their thoughts

It's not quiet around me.

Radios - not blaring but
gently crooning

mothers - shushing naughty
sons and daughters

there's the breeze rustling through the bamboo

hammers hammering

drills drilling

planes overheard

birds

butterflies

but

quietly

quietly

the tiny tufts

of

poplar tree seeds

settle

everywhere

as does my sadness