In a corner lives a picture,

with ribbed edges and different destinations,

depending on how many are squared into their small niche-like nook.

Inside the parceled organ of a beating page,

Lies verse on verse of what is believed to be truth to whoever dwells in those words of belonging,

Oh to share a folded thought and wrap it in its same coils,

how to sit with the pictures in the corners and travel across the world.

How the ways it crosses land and things it must endure,

The little things inside of epiphanies and realizations.

Things it longs and goes for, the time and courage it took,

though nothing of any wage

can compare to the singsonging,

of life’s turns and foils,

that travel the world in our pages.

In our words,

Our thoughts,

And our shared information.

Of what we wish the other end of the cans and strings

to listen intently to,

and read into the mind

and live in our corner,

with our picture of the world.