Читать книгу Spells - Annie Finch - Страница 17

KEYS

Phi Beta Kappa poem, Yale University, 2011

Like an island, a key makes a door. In the surge

Of its mineral clarity, seas come unbound.

Though an arch curves together, the keystone will stay

Braced in gravity, locked by immensity, wound

To a temple in air by the spiraling play

That could tumble much heavier forces. What’s found

Past the musical notes that cascade and converge

In a key, past the tock the tick carries away

When it’s wound by a key? There are patterns that merge

Meanings, silent until we code them open,

Clued to us by the random knowing tribes:

Carvings, letters, hands, faces, symbols, stars.

Each warm friction’s vibration circumscribes

One more seat in the clearing where we are

Gathered, circling a home we can’t describe.

What’s the word but a word that can’t be spoken?

Who’d tear pleasure out past life’s iron bars?

Where’s the use of a code that won’t be broken?

A ring of keys hangs like a question at your side.

You move through the answering darkness like a key,

While windows of moonlight branch down the catacombs

And rustle each prisoner into mystery.

Each lock, like each room, is alone till the opening comes;

Your ring reaches one, then another. Liberty

Repeats down the corridor, doors pulled open wide,

Exploding more showers of sweetness through the combs

Whose locks had been waiting for one key to be tried.