N327

Road trip, boat trip,

Driving on the N327

With boats and ropes and nets and anchors,

Belonging to fishermen finishing their daily work,

And we stand still and we drive on,

Without watching the clock’s hands move,

Without a destination besides the road

That leads further south,

And to the sea,

To the sea.

Road trip, round trip,

Done and rusty windmills

Have long lost their propellers of cloth,

While the road now copies their rounds,

Circling and encircling the car

And its inhabitants.

The unfolded map on the knee

And four eyes on the signs

Until it feels

right.

Road trip, beach trip,

Eucalyptus trees enrich the air with a lemony scent,

While the truck in front of the windscreen

Swirls the dust from the top of the trees

To imitate the honey and the bees.

We follow the wind,

Until a minor sandstorm leaves us breathless

On the beach

And others

naked.

Road trip, horse trip,

The movements below almost like a ship,

Rocking to and fro,

German sounds at the animal’s ear

But only a local sound,

too familiar to be misplaced,

Shocks the rocking into galloping

And sparkling eyes come running closer

Until the dogs bark

their goodbye.