The slow-grained slide to embed^{2 the blade}

of the key is a sheathing^3，

a gliding^{4 on graphite， pushing inside}

to find the ribs^{5 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^{6 of wordsthe 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，

their bells are keeping time；

the church doors close and open underground.