Your words unfold like a map
marking the journey through a single day,
made from the comfort of my chair.
You wield your vision like a weapon,
bold slashes with your pen
leave me vanquished in your mirror.

Now the room lies still,
the single pulse your hard-bound words,
taking shape the way a fence crawls across a winter field,
wielding life like a paintbrush,
your pictures more exciting
than the margins where I’ve played.