Literature
Imouto
Her fingers have pressed trees
into precise, practiced creases,
branched out their long necks
and pushed their bright,
dainty leaves into flight.
Silence and stillness spin them ever
so slowly;
a mere breath
makes them tremble.
They dangle in their quiet world
above, my scarce fraction
of a senbazuru, my calm,
stately companions,
my ever-present paper peace
hovering overhead.