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Origami Beyond the Flat-pack Fold
Don’t fold me on-the-fold,
on the crease well-marked.
I’m tired of swans and cranes,
of being shaped into
your cookie cutter shapes,
pressed into the dough.
Let me be the mirrored sea.
The tranquil lake of high country.
The field of grass at dawn,
undisturbed by quake of breeze.
Let me be the elixir scent of flowers,
untainted by stench of memories.
The blue sky reaching to the far horizon,
with no hint or tint of clouds.
Let me be the pure fresh page,
you turn, flat nascent smooth,
for your Origami.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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