Embed

Embed

In the quiet hum of a London café
the screen glows—punctuated by a frame
that steals its colours, long‑sought grace
and slips inside the page like a secret.

The heart of a poem, a BBC clip,
strips itself of its edges, its borders,
and merges with code, a silent liaison,
the invisible bridge that keeps us tethered.

Until the moment you tap, “Play!”
the embed lies on the brink—soft‑white, steady,
knowledge encoded in a line of CSS,
a beacon hidden in plain sight.

Here, in the thrum of wires and pixels,
British afternoons find new rhythm:
plastic cups, custard teas, and a video that
sits perfectly in its own little bubble.

The act of embedding is quiet—
a wink of a hyperlink, a drop‑in function—
yet it binds old questions to new answers,
as the railway lines thread futures through time.

So when you see that tiny bold “play” icon,
remember the artisan who has slipped into that frame,
and think of all the voices, images, and sound,
in the digital tendrils of a world we dare to claim.