Lost Key

Memory of a lost key
rests in the palm of time, silent,
and the rain brushes it like a forgotten note.
In the heart of the rain invisible doors are born,
no iron nor lead keys are needed,
only a breath that recognizes the scent of iron.
Memory extends its hand and finds a lock of light,
the water turns without sound and silences the distance,
and a threshold appears where there was nothing.
When the storm yields, the house lights up within,
the found key sings among the drops and the stone,
and the heart opens to rooms never before known.