I do these things for myself,
and no one else.
the smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
words are my boulders of granite,
my journal is my stone quarry.
the stork perches on its nest
at the top of the cathedral belltower
as the sun warms my hands
wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee
the bells ring the hour as I leave
my own perch.
17.2.04
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