On a cool August night something caught in my ear
and I turned, astonished by the sound that I heard;
Like the wind through the trees, though the air was still
I caught my fist glimpse of the paper bird.

In that moment the world seemed to fade away
as I gazed at the creature before me,
so graceful, so splendid, so fragile it seemed
like the ghost of a shadow, a spectre of glory.

As we stood there, alone but for the crescent moon
it fixed me with a steely gaze
which seemed to challenge my right to that moment,
under the stars, in the misty haze.

And then, as swiftly as it had appeared
it was gone, lost to the starlit sky,
and the world returned, like the incoming tide
washing over our world, the paper bird and I.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2010