Mountains in Holland

Water falling over the canals

overflowing with stories of commerce, of wars and art;

We came for the last one

to be traffickers of dance,

furrowing between streets of leaning buildings,

moving our bodies to the margin of their doors,

their bicycles and their wooden windows,

hiding their dark past on days of marine winds

and clouds that scatter through the plain of the country;

We are, like all of their population, the hills they do not have

the grooves sprouting from their famous paintings,

the mountain range that moves for their windmills 

and their inexplicable destinies.