I keep the keys, and go around locking
the new deadbolts, meant to ward off
antique thieves: loud, satisfying clicks.
When I am walking down some broad, linden-
lined boulevard where people pass
whole afternoons at tables in dappled
shade, and where the cries of news vendors
mean nothing to me, I'll be glad
that I've overwatered all the plants,
stopped the mail, and wound the clock
to tick and chime as if I were at home.
The dog has understood the melancholy
meaning of open satchels, and has hurled
himself down by the door, hoping not to be
left in the silent house, like Firs ....
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