Things That Fly

I.
My niece speaks in riddles
to her uncaged bird

like Francis of Assisi and his flock
of wolves, a shining mist at dawn descends
like a wall to words between them.

II.
Misery may be folded
in half, like a sheet
of blank paper. Or filled
with words. No matter.
It is only a first step.

You must continue the folds, parallel
To each side, until their intricacy
builds on itself, forms a delicate
grace. Separate. Facing itself.

In Japan, there are beautiful words
For each step. This way misery dies

in equal parts, until it forms
a paper missile at twelve noon
to fling out any window, without
aiming. But only from a great height.




Jim Carroll,
from "The Book Of Nods"