A poem may unfold
Like a life or newspaper
Or a message written
Inside a paper crane

The first line like
Life at the start
The newborn glimpses Mom
Looking at the universe
From the outside

A newspaper headline   
Like a poem’s first line
Nudges the reader
To take that first step
Down the garden path

Paper cranes unfold
Most often by
Accident or whim
Or because the maker
Hinted

Sometimes the message
Awakens the crane
And she takes flight
A symbol of grace
Across the sky

And (alas) so must I
Since poetry editors
In the end always
Are unfolded
By last lines

Wishing a fond goodbye to Eye On Life
Tom Rubenoff
Poetry Editor 2009 - 2015