The Hinge and Its Oilcan

My hinge has rusted, my horizon has closed, my long, shrill sighs have hurt the ears of my waking and my sleep, and everyone’s ears. The oilcan hears my wretched moans. It draws its slender neck out of its collar, lifts off its cap, presses its spout against me, sprinkles its dizzying fluid over my body its treasure glides into my depths.