13.9.11
letter written on a paper crane, by dave rowley
Dear Person,
The world is worsening.
This bird has been carefully crafted
from the last sheet of paper
in my notebook. She cannot fly.
I know this, but am relying on wind
and good luck, hoping she will be carried
toward people who can help. Clouds live
between me and the horizon, and the streets
are too quiet. Did something happen? Warm birds
are rare here, they fell from the trees weeks ago.
I’m sending my paper crane in search of life, though
I doubt you can come. Please care
for the bird even though she cannot sing.
To compensate for this I sang while making her —
each crease contains one song. If you come,
you will know when you find me; my house
has a light on. Please bring paper.
The world is worsening.
This bird has been carefully crafted
from the last sheet of paper
in my notebook. She cannot fly.
I know this, but am relying on wind
and good luck, hoping she will be carried
toward people who can help. Clouds live
between me and the horizon, and the streets
are too quiet. Did something happen? Warm birds
are rare here, they fell from the trees weeks ago.
I’m sending my paper crane in search of life, though
I doubt you can come. Please care
for the bird even though she cannot sing.
To compensate for this I sang while making her —
each crease contains one song. If you come,
you will know when you find me; my house
has a light on. Please bring paper.
6.9.11
5.9.11
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