Here the first poem of Sequenza
If you want to hear the Dutch read by Marleen de Crée you'll have to be there tonight.
I tell you, Plinius, it is September
poets turn in the tide.
fruit ripens on warm walls,
don’t forget: these are the last hours
of summer. warmth, nothing can happen still.
it are the quiet days of the year,
because more patiently all is carried
in multiples of the last gestation.
September knows what fondness means
and love draws shadows of wax.
I say: once prudence was calculated
by the outline of a water glass.
the grapes, Plinius, the last trestles
of what a poet’s summer was.