what an unlucky key
I carry
no black cats
only a white-eye doe
through snow
and always the moon
Electrifying the branches

the door of the coast
must be closing
the fish must be angry
that they dance so still

maybe I’ll keep the key
like a lock of hair
a cloud, and the magic of rain

tomorrow I will come to the door
look at the field
in early dawn
burn deliver
and fold the silver sky