Paper Boxes

My thoughts are boxed in paper-folded squares
and lined like soldiers on my window sill:
my thoughts of you in dreams, caught unawares
of all the paper boxes I would fill
with images of how your wrist is curved
or how the sunlight combs your scented hair,
in hopes that every thought might be preserved
and let me always find them standing there.
But thoughts in paper boxes blow away
when windows are left open in a storm.
The paper melts in rain from clouds of gray
and dissipates the thoughts, no longer warm.
Like wisps of wind I watch them through my tears
and whisper their return through silent fears.

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