my hands tremble
forming lines on paper
folding tears
so anxious wings
my guts flying
silent my hands are pale
touched the light of the crescent moon
in the hospital room window
stork heron cranes
dimly lit room
You're on your back
so loser
cynical time
on the wall of the ward
chimes of bells
and dark
hunting me
like nightmare
You groan
space full of shadow of childhood
remember when chasing a kite
who broke the rope
now your life depends
on an infusion
folded paper again
again bitter. I cried again
a thousand paper cranes drove out the curse
a treacherous time
but only the stork crane
dancing cheerfully in the air of formalin smell
scratch the shadow on the wall
You fly
leaving a trace of grief
on the dimly lit room