Folding and unfolding
as a mode of finding
something. Bodies like
opposing ends of an
empty sheet.
Where edges meet, grow river,
joy, flower, grid, and grief,
all pleated slow repeated folds
of silk in silver fingertips.
Folded in like flour, maybe,
folded like a dog-ear, maybe,
folding like a tired spine,
unfolding like a set of wings.
Brought into the fold (not without
raw uncertainties), I find me more,
I open, close, give and keep and
some things crease.
What happens happens underneath.
But also,
paper cranes,
fortune tellers,
birthday card,
mini zine.
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