You,

wee fossil,

primitive beak

with your little teeth of brass,

half alligator jaw

in saw-edged silhouette,

have moved house twice

in a cardboard box,

forgetting her door

that you were made for

as you yourself were forgotten.

Your stock joke

about lock and barrel

unheard,

you joined

a pocketful of other

little skulls,

clattering your secrets

useless as dead dialects,

but this morning

I opened the wrong drawer

and you surfaced.

Then I saw her face

and shivered a memory of her

and damn you,

damn you for reminding me.

I give you back to yesterday,

a high arc

from hand to waiting sea.