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"The Sick Child."

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A small child is
ill, has wakened.

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It is winter, past
midnight in Antwerp.

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Above a wooden chest,
the stars shine.

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And the child relaxes
in her mother's arms.

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The mother does not sleep.

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She stares, fixedly,
into the bright museum.

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By spring, the child will die.

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Then it is wrong,
wrong to hold her.

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Let her be alone,
without memory,

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as the others wake, terrified,
scraping the dark paint

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from their faces.

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