My neighbour is a thinker
a statue behind the house
in the summer and the winter

garden concealed in the spruce
His legs graft him:
bare, upright branches

invisibly sustained
by roots in the ground

At times a wind that doesn't want to wait
is stroking through his feathers
but hé is not rushed

when I throw fish
Thoughtful he knows
opportunities are taken or missed

and he knows the difference
the right moment
or not