APRIL FISH

Staring at the pristine white
until it all comes back- memory recite
Call to me, but fade away
until the line between reality and fiction
blurs to a sensory friction
A bell stricken on the backhand
an apotropaic rhyme
with a parasitic chime
Defiant, dejected, I let the pages catch wind
Little black flowers of a forgotten day
little black flowers bleed from the inlay
And my paper cranes, strung on a kite string
speak of an age, a life, a wish
remembered only, by the April fish.