A thousand cranes were set to sail,

tiny perfect wings soon drowning, limping

dead pieces of paper

shape inevitably lost.

It was your smile that I noticed, sad


as if you had done this before many times.

(I wondered then if against all odds you had

found your purpose

as a requisitioner of the extraordinary, or should it be the extra-ordinary-?)

. . . and while I know there is

a certain solidarity and strength of spirit in knowing time, place and meaning

your ancient eyes are now lost in a young face

haunted by the damning silence between us-

This is what true love is

when there is nothing left to give.

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