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.