Zywa
Waiting in the wind
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
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