Folded on the sharp crease. Then reversed. He calls this geometry yet curves were exposed as woman unfolds herself.
She wanted to travel to shore where Pacific waters wrinkled as delicate as paper sheets.
Bonefolder smooth the water’s wounds. The growing distance, a paper padlock keyed to heartbeat and tide.
Stay away from water, flame.
At sunrise came questions. She asked for scissors and waited for a response in her favor, a gesture before her resentment could creep in.
Stay away from flame, water.
They say woman is made from clay, rib or water, mistaken for a hollow core.
Poems on paper limbs and boats sliced from palms on the horizon countless paper sails.
In the evening
we constellate images willow sapping lawn
clematis arboring our heads ceiling of swollen blossoms drooping with mist
Under lilac canopy.
We are patio dancing (he and I) after rain
his open palm invites the converging of our skin
night insects sting, drink, bleed us
How suddenly the tongue coils
between us words emerge from raw mouths
Again moths circling
my words flutter wounded around the patio lamppost
night-flying wasps released from his mouth
-- Christine Pacyk is currently finishing her thesis for MFA in poetry at Northwestern University, which gave her the opportunity to work with Dr. Simone Muench. She has poems published or forthcoming in The Found Poetry Review, Monsters and Dust, The List Anthology, and The Beloit Poetry Journal.