You might find a key in the place of thorns
where sparrows peck at desiccated fruit,
where shadows disappear. Be careful not
to bloody your wrist or rake skin across
rough surface of oak or pine. When you
bend towards frozen earth, allow your limbs
the freedom you often deny; open your
hands to the cold. See how easy your breath
comes now, song of wind rubbing against
your ears? No voices offer comfort now,
or tears or clatter of spoons and plates,
no steam curling from the surface of cups.
Alone in this tangle of nerves, you slip iron
into the slit above your silent heart
as gates groan and gape open to your secret self.