with the gaze of an outsider, I look in the mirror
at my face
at the tracings of time
at which I never seem to have been present

and decide once again that I'll just have to wait and see
how the first wrinkles run, the past

I sometimes think, must be something lying ahead of us

that which has been, I'm drawing back to me from afar
like a series of episodes on my retina

unfolding the achievements of two renowned horologists

one became an illusionist and took his clocks on stage / the other
invented first the conveyor belt and then leisure time / to temporarily forget
that it's your own car / you’re reassembling every Monday

I wonder:

if something can exist that's invisible
then what's that ghost driving through my face?

original: spookrijder

from: Veldwerk, 2020 (Querido, Amsterdam)

translated by Rosalind Buck

for Poetry International 2021