In the hall, I stand so tall, a sturdy frame for notes and all. Old folks gather, tales to share, pinned with thoughts in open air. Plank, message, or game it's all the same to me.

I am geometry you can taste, Architecture you can chew, My valleys hold rivers of maple, My peaks never melt.

I sit in the corner, though not in punishment, I drink hot water, but seek no nourishment. I have no voice, yet I hiss and sigh, I warm up the room as the winter goes by. I am full of metal fins, but I cannot swim, I make cold air fade when the daylight grows dim.

Each gentle squeeze reminds me, nothing I hold is mine.

I arrive already rumpled by events, wearing the worlds hurry in little black coats. I fold my troubles before breakfast, then lose pieces to coffee, windows, and fish. By evening I know less than I did at dawn, though every page insists otherwise.