Wish

I read somewhere that folding a thousand origami cranes will breathe life into a wish,
send it whispering into reality, blowing away problems with the breeze of its wingbeats,
dispersing them as if they were as substantial as smoke.

Impossible for me to part with the greatest treasure, my magic love you are.

So every piece of paper that I’d shredded and torn and scrunched up in the misery of hearing your prognosis
I unfolded and uncurled and used the impressions, so like the crowsfeet that make your face a harvest time

of the best life, to fold anew a billion birds, and even they were worth
only a fraction of the value of you.