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?
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