i say to the wind while squinting through glass
that brings me up next to him, my good sir,
mr. stork.
he is sitting quietly this morning
i imagine he is thinking of his mate,
mevrouw ooievaar, mrs. stork,
to come back from her morning parades
to greet him,
& they'll throw back their heads
and laugh with their beaks
and click-clack clattering laugh,
and all will be well
and i ride on,
with my red-riding helmet
in the early dawn.
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