The dog stops barking after Robinson has gone.
His act is over. The world is a grey world,
Not without violence, and he kicks under the grand piano,
The nightmare chase well under way.
The mirror from Mexico, stuck to the wall,
Reflects nothing at all. The glass is black.
Robinson alone provides the image Robinsonian.
Which is all of the room—walls, curtains,
Shelves, bed, the tinted photograph of Robinson’s first wife,
Rugs, vases, panetellas in a humidor.
They would fill the room if Robinson came in.
The pages in the books are blank,
The books that Robinson has read. That is his favourite chair,
Or where the chair would be if Robinson were here.
All day the phone rings. It could be Robinson
Calling. It never rings when he is here.
Outside, white buildings yellow in the sun.
Outside, the birds circle continuously
Where trees are actual and take no holiday.
Weldon Kees disappeared on July 18, 1955. His car, with keys still in the ignition, was found on the northern side of the Golden Gate Bridge. His cat, Lonesome, was found in his apartment. His wallet, watch, sleeping bag and savings-account book were missing…