I found a skeleton key underneath some papers
in an attic-dusted trunk. The papers were yellowed
and creased, and the key held the image of a dove in
its bow. I thought of a magician, draped in a long
coat, producing doves at the fingertips. I breathed
a breathy laugh at the thought, that this peace symbol
is so easily manipulated; then looking back into
his eyes, I saw a knowing sadness and realized
with a weight that this was no coincidence at all.