Do you see our old bedstead?
Flung across it the faded flowers
Of the one cover and under it …
A flash of steel!
We reveal the metalwork of an old lock
And key – two forms harmoniously grappled
To the soul of a secret by the look of it.
Iron hinges warmly interlace.
As the key turns …
We become an open door to a mine shaft.
Chains rustle in the warm bed of molten leaves
And petal blue ragstone hints of subterranean
Rivers here; rapids show refracted light
And the bolt glints hint of the muse.
– Lock and key and this scuttle bed –
If we are represented in your mind
Merely as a coiled trick of the light
You can pause to think it out as the Time