Shortfall (Poetry)

I could fold this page
into a paper airplane
climb the stairs of some high building
go out onto its forbidden roof
and launch it — send it spiralling down
or, if caught up by the wind
careering off, wings lifted as a fragile bird
might glide away
a message tied securely to its leg
but unsure who might read the news
it carries, or when and where
such random gestures eventually
come in to land

Either way, these lines are fated
not to reach you
but fall short in meaning
and in origami’s skill
so what’s the use of sending roughly-
torn-out pages
when you had no idea what’s on my mind
and now you never will