Paper Crane

Yi Feng

I can’t fold that kind of simple and pretty paper crane
Always, I fold it with my own hesitation
and with the shades of night

I put it besides a child’s bed
as if to leave a spontaneous short letter 
Inside it, there is a meadow slowly lifted into                         
the sky with the melody of music

On days of the deepest folds
and of a nice silly man sitting before the arrival of spring                  
                                         
I cannot fold that kind of simple and pretty paper crane
Even in front of a table piled with pieces of paper
In this quiet factory workshop
labor still drags its subtle shadow

Will the smiling children 
accept the secret in it 
When rocks brought by the autumn roll over the roof        
of this little lovely glassy house
will every piece of glass remain intact