Cut the Corner

A bent coin spins on a borrowed floor, One side says stay, one side says more. The hallway hums in a crooked key, You count the cracks and count to three. You pin a red thread through the sleeve, A little proof you still believe. The kettle clicks, the window shakes, We trade our names for small mistakes. You turn away, I miss the cue, The room goes wide, then narrows through. I lose the beat, you lose the rhyme, We meet between the missing time. Cut the corner, bend the frame, Call me softly by the wrong name. If we fall, then fall askew, I’ll make a strange shape next to you. Cut the corner, split the air, Leave one broken answer there. When the pattern comes undone, We become what we outrun. A paper moon beneath the sink, A rusted spoon beside the ink. You draw a map without a road, I lift the door but not the load. No clean line, no steady hand, Only gravel, wire, sand. You say the quiet has a sound, I say the floor is moving round. I say the floor is moving round. Hold your breath and miss the train, Let the windows learn the rain. Every silence leaves a stain, Every answer bends again. Cut the corner, bend the frame, Call me softly by the wrong name. If we fall, then fall askew, I’ll make a strange shape next to you. Cut the corner, split the air, Leave one broken answer there. When the pattern comes undone, We become what we outrun. The coin lies still beside the door, One side says less, one side says more. You count the cracks, I count the blue, The room keeps changing shape for you.