Key

Singular,

asymmetric,

it slips into its one peculiar home

to rest each odd angle

against what was made for it.

It's carried in the pocket

like a knife which cuts just one thing.

It's like a man who goes everywhere

but is faithful to one woman.

If its lock is lost,

it's coin of a dead realm,

a widow in India,

a marble finger

dug up and pointing-

to what forgotten heaven,

reaching toward

what mysterious god?