Fold


 

 I must confess there is a page in my diary I’d like to rip out

and fold into a triangle til it is about the size of a potato chip

and the color of my Chihuahua’s ears

as she dashes around winter roses edged in pink

the shape of a pinwheel star rippling under a citrus tree,

where tangerine peels curl around the fingers of a breeze

and days get lost in Origami

 

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