He has come to watch the place,
to case the joint and make assessment
of what is worth keeping.
There isn't much, and it was not insured.
He takes off his coat, sits cross-legged,
puffs on his pipe while we draw an inventory --
a porcelain dog frightened by its own violent,
jade eyes; a stone judge with a rope around the neck;
wild magnolia trees, an orchard filled with almond
scent and silver spiders. He chuckles and puffs, then
tells us to leave everything but the house
that opens its poetry book and reads itself aloud
in the sunset's clutter.