Pale pink parchment with edge of gold I hold it in my hand, smooth, whole. Look closely, stroke softly, suddenly see fine lines crawling over the surface, see them crack, split wide, fragment, and a shot symmetry bursts over me - I am blown away. See the pieces float in the wind, see them disappear. In the uneven and wrinkled walls I trace a line of movement - the striped paper is sullen, silent, and I wonder - can you peel as sadly as this?next poem