It is dark and I cannot see -
grope for words, handwilling
but they skip, elude me easily -

slippery things these, my fingers
slide off them, little golden keys
gleam my mind, ghosting
sense the hollow space, the breeze

beneath them.  Divine a way
through lightlessness, the no-door
find it gently, tap wood, pluck
with respect, forehead touch the floor.

And you, what are you for?
Torn leathers and tea, so sore
with no way back, watering
my black earth till it gives more.
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