Locked out, at the top-floor landing

Of five flights of stairs I ran up,

Night skylight on shut walls and door,

Is thinking into being a seashell,

Into iron fence-post in frozen ground,

To become fan-shape, become ferrous,

And being locked out, being locked in

To my un-scallop, non-metal self,

Is breathing hard outside your mind,

Shaking the door, kicking your ribs,

Wanting to see what your eyes look at,

Wince with you, exclaim, fall dark

When you tumble into slack fears,

Be gnawed unfed when you starve,

For your reasons dance when you dance.

I suppose we are all apart like this,

A cold forest of windowless towers,

But like them all, I am different.

I found I have some windows and a door,

And my locks are all on the inside.

A few open now, and looking through,

I discover that your locks are outside.

You are different from the others, too.

I touch you, and there is no one but us.