Paper Toys Of The World Poem by Matthew Zapruder

Friends, what is beauty? Right now for me these paper replicas
I glanced at in a book I did not buy. Paper Toys of the World. I hardly
think of anyone but myself. For a little while right now
I know many tiny pagodas were built with knowledge they are not
meant to last. There was paper and there was time someone
had to consider, time no one was in crisis, time no one was dying.
I think each breath the maker sent through them is like
a trusting class of architects sent through an ancient building
where used to be copied terrifying decrees. I bet people
who build pagodas are people who think they won't ever see them.
That thought is true, people know people and I am one. I like
saying this morning in Houston contains many tiny pagodas of wishing
for better things for people we do not know. I like knowing
somewhere social workers consider their clients. Last night Tonya said
I worry too much, she said it softly and firmly because she hardly knows me
and knew I worry I worry she's wrong. Here she is in my thoughts
along with all this beautiful silver fear, beautiful because
it with a silver penumbra protects the family readying itself
for school and work. So I choose to believe and choose to ask you
to believe it too. Today we are driving through the Painted Desert
where a few people live and breathe, it seems possible, Vic says look out
the window and feel and that's what I'm going to do.