Walls

Four wooden planks
touching end to end
surround me.

If I touch them
my fingers bleed
and loose splinters
pry my sleepy nails
from their beds,

so I sit between them
with folded legs and
elbows perched on knees
and analyze the grains

as if they were
the fabled tapestry of Fate.

I cup my chin in my palm,
and I pretend with half-lidded eyes
that I am a part of the world
that I watch from within
these four wooden walls.

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