The Lock

Sitting perched at the edge

of the inside of a cool iron lock—

Licking its ridges and grooves 

With my hands 

Grasping at its smooth, ferric walls:

I’ve found some solace in exhaustion 

Feet dangling into dark matter 

All I see are stars 

And all the stars see 

Are stars         

     and me 

     And the

                             Lock

Hot cheek pressed to stony slab,

An inching latch of steel,

forthcoming, 

scrapes my frail body 

from the safety of this

apathetic cavity

and begs the question:

Will I float 

or will I 

fall?