We, the walls
All paint
Sisters and father
Who otherwise, around me
A world
With you
Here, right now
The pigment in time
Walls tell a story
Materials, they color
The colors blend me
Till I turn black
A black that absorbs
And digs in
Me
You
My curls
Gold, like the frames
Around copies
They live
We make up
The stories, they don’t talk
But speak
My father
The old masters
Like mirrors in his hands
Nearly translucent
Double
Two in one
They used to be
Or remain still
That corner!
On top of the cabinet
Always present
Safe
No, necessary
Faithfully connected
Invisible
Inside his bag, a lock of his hair
A brother
And I
Together as well
My sister(s)
We breathe the air
And think the other
Feel
Our father
The copy