I have folded the days
of last year like small
paper cranes.
I have thrown them
by handfuls into
the windy night
and watched them
make starry circles
in the frozen sky.
Since they left, I have
searched bare branches
and open fields
but have found no
paper wing or still-
flapping day.
They must have joined
their brothers and sisters,
perched high
in an eternal tree
whose leafless branches
are white with our history.
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