The lost key-shaped collection
of carbon & aluminum brings me
to skin’s edge, my inability
even in atoms of likeness & salt
to find, remember, open
or close. The house & street
stretch into a laboratory of non-keys
worth trying. The science of purse or
storm drain concludes in question:
Creator, supple & dinosaur, if
I’m unable to locate small & precious,
my own invention, how do you
ask anything of me. When found,
I slice open every door like that is
what I am made of and made for.
Published in CalibanOnline in 2015.