Murals of glass and steel towered over me,
I crouched to the balcony, dragging a volume of Yellow Pages.
Any leaf would do but I picked the one scant of ink.
Tearing it I heard the sheet’s secret,
and imagined shredding a golden pleat.
A rectangle I shaped,
One paper helicopter rested on my palm,
I kissed for good luck before flinging.
Its wings spun,
"Mimi," father called. I darted inside.
A breeze fluttered the paper creation.