A Poem on Love (and Words)

Who can read this and fail to swoon at the beauty of the imagery?

  Wedding the Locksmith’s Daughter, by Robin Robertson

 The slow-grained slide to embed the blade

of the key is a sheathing,

a gliding on graphite, pushing inside

to find the ribs of the lock.

Sunk home, the true key slots to its matrix;

geared, tight-fitting, they turn

together, shooting the spring lock,

throwing the bolt. Dactyls, iambics-

the clinch of words – the hidden couplings

in the cased machine. A chime of sound

on sound: the way the sung note snibs on meaning

and holds. The lines engage and marry now

like vows, their bells are keeping time;

the church doors close and open underground.

                                            

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