i have never seen a white stork in real life
I flip my heart like a coin to imagine it
When the heart rolls across the slippery tile, I catch the last image
of a face.
the face of a mother
her legs — like two storks
her face composed of all women, yet resembling none
I have never seen a white stork in a dream
I flip my heart like a pillow to imagine it
when the heart rolls in feathers
I catch the last image
The larch delights the spruces with its scent
there are no white storks on the larch, but my dream is full of their wings
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 2:35 AM UTC
i have never seen a white stork in real life
I flip my heart like a coin to imagine it
When the heart rolls across the slippery tile, I catch the last image
of a face.
the face of a mother
her legs — like two storks
her face composed of all women, yet resembling none
I have never seen a white stork in a dream
I flip my heart like a pillow to imagine it
when the heart rolls in feathers
I catch the last image
The larch delights the spruces with its scent
there are no white storks on the larch, but my dream is full of their wings
Request permission to use this poem