I packed my suitcase
 
for a summer pilgrimage,
 
then I lost the key.

 
 
 

Door of old sorrows—
 
at dusk I stand before it,
 
my key in the lock.

Key

 
 
 

I still have the key
 
to a house I used to own
 
fifty years ago.

Blues

 
 
 

post-election blues—
 
even the wren near the barn
 
is trilling off key