this katydid has angel wings, you’ll find, and makes
sounds of cheerfulness in a world of little.
I’m sure in every fold there is a koan. perhaps, a
rustle of rice paper in a lacquer box of ancient odor
of sandalwood, perhaps, of new-mown hay...
inside, there is the anatomy of an origami.
fold, fold, fold, and somehow, then, create:
you have never known the calligraphy of one wing
of any insect’s flight, yet find them common.
rise on your own wings! create a geometry of the
tissues of leaves along your body’s flights of fancy!
each is different than the next...and yet: when they
rise to the sky at once, the whispers of green fill all,
with every breath of everything....