Algorithm for Loss

He goes to every Lost and Found desk
in the building the day he finds 

his car keys missing, and can hardly 
believe how many fobs and key rings 

and lanyards there are, like toys 
someone forgot to take in from 

the sandbox. But his is not among them. 
He will go back every day for a week, 

maybe two, to check on whether someone 
has turned it in; after which it will 

cease to matter as much anymore. With every 
passing day, it seems the column on one side 

marking losses grows longer than the column
on the other side listing possessions. A parade 

of eyeglasses and eyeglass cases, half 
a country of missing socks. The buckles 

and buttons from beloved shirts, the cat 
running into the street as soon as no one 

is looking. The children leave, one after 
the other. Years later, there is only the lake, 

the reflection of mountains in them. Then even 
the mountains disappear, or he from them.