The moonlight seeped in through the window,
shining bright white, like winter’s first snow
flooding the room with tentative grace.
Do you remember the paper crane
tied with a red thread to the wind chime?
It danced in sync with the whistling wind,
throwing dark shadows on whitewashed walls.
Sycamore swings swayed in the back yard
and wandering footfalls took me there.
Alternate endings smothered my mind
like tendrils which prey, curl and crawl up.
If I had asked you to, would you have
turned back from the fork in these dirt roads
or waited beneath the cedar boughs?
The answers settled like hidden roots
buried deep and a solid sixth sense.
A sudden wind freed the dancing crane-
your parting gift of plain white paper.
How it flew with the moon on its wings!