STILL LIFE WITH A BALLOON

Returning memories?
No, at the time of death
I’d like to see lost objects
return instead.

Avalanches of gloves,
coats, suitcases, umbrellas ---
come, and I’ll say at last:
What good’s all this?

Safety pins, two odd combs,
a paper rose, a knife,
some string --- come, and I’ll say
at last: I haven’t missed you.

Please turn up, key, come out,
wherever you‘ve been hiding,
in time for me to say:
You’ve gotten rusty, friend!

Downpours of affidavits,
permits and questionnaires,
rain down and I’ll say:
I see the sun behind you.

My watch, dropped in the river,
bob up and let me seize you ---
then, face to face, I’ll say:
Your so-called time is up.

And lastly, toy balloon
once kidnapped by the wind ---
come home, and I’ll say:
There are no children here.

Fly out the open window
and into the wide world;
let someone else shout” Look!”
and I will cry.