The Patron Saint of Lost Things by Julie
Finding some lost thing
is a paradise all its own.
When that leather wallet
worn smooth as a burro's back,
ambles shyly into its old pocket,
or when those Manilow tickets
pry their way from beneath
the fridge like convicts
tunneling out of Sing Sing,
or when those car keys rear
their serrated heads like zombies
emerging from their tomb
of last year's tax returns,
or when that plain wedding band
rolls in shining and leaps back
onto its rightful ring finger,
the kingdom of heaven itself
seems almost at hand.