Paperplane.

Paper airplanes dip from view, All made the same, Their folds, their creases sharp, And when it seems that all is lost, They suddenly appear again to Streak across a deep blue sky, They fly so high, But never giving you or I A satisfactory reason why. The only messages they hold, I am told, They hide from view, The writing really can’t be read When they insist on flying way above my head, The numbers pasted on their side, Will not provide Identities, Or give away their secret scribe. What do they want? What can they bring? Perhaps a lot, or not a thing? Like life, sometimes, A gentle glide upon the unseen wind, A perfect landing, Or, at worst, To crash and burn, again.