She is predicted to me at a breakfast, uncertainty,
she ís arrived.
She intervenes immediately, internal chaos,
she could not wish for better.
She breaks my fingers provisionally
and extinguishes the pain with powerful scruples.
She pulls a hood over my eyes
and asks her delicate question:
Whether I will no longer close them for her.
I point out to her where my answer is.
It leaves her cold. Her colour is red.
She unpacks her bags.
from the poetry bundle For this words do exist, Toon Tellegen, 2005)