The little paper cranes on my hand sought to fly to a whole new world.
Between the silences and long afterthoughts
they wanted to say something to kill the silence
then they'd laugh, then they'd marvel
at the little things they hear and see
The pink paper cranes on my hand sung a tune I once heard
in the middle of thoughts and contemplation
like the humming birds they brought healing
then they'd shout, then they'd run
with the joy of little children playing under the hiding sun
