Though it is pulp between your fingers
I imagine your hands submerged in other waters.
You pull the sheet and couch it on the felt
Stray fibers hissing in your hot palms
As you pass the mould and deckle across the mat.
Your glance kindles the burning
Behind my breastplate
As I move into position behind the vat.
Kris Caldwell's poems have appeared in a handful of regional quarterlies. Her favorite quote coincidentally describes transit by Metro bus: "Do not hurry; do not rest." - Goethe