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A bunch of keys sprawled out on a desktop:
emotive compass pointing to doors
lost in the weather of large buildings.
Undizzy, stiff-toothed metal -- after all
that turning! -- never a fail of rust:
metal's most exclusive coterie.
Expressions rating room with certainty,
certain as one's bones are sound and certain:
depict the embroilment when disappeared!
Watchdogs of a rare breed, each opens only
its own door, tackling in the simplest way
the lock: a quick soft snarl -- the job is done!
They say that keys open the gates of heaven:
the lock turns once, or not at all. |
