The Knocking comes back
Soft but quick taps
Three at a time
No thunder
Or Snap
Just
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
As horizons turn black
Anticipatory Winds
Holds breath
No Sound
But
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
It’s painfully detached
From diligent wrists
Brittle bones
Or Twigs
Yet
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
Heart beating in sync
Swallowing sand
Step forward
Toward
The
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
Still so delicately true
No crying wolf, no
Malice imbued
But why?
Why
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
My heart fills in its bass
Bounded in rhythm
Bounded by fate
Reaching
Out
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
How I wish it were mad
Not cynically fragile
To know its intent
To unshackle
Me
.
.
.
The Knocking comes back
Door leaking all through
The Miasma of night
Sporadic in pause
Then
.
.
.
The knocking comes back
Something is wrong
Reaching the knob
Reflecting but null
God I just cannot
Pull



Desperate detectors of light
Eyes stitched open wide
With no sound to pace
I float in vacuum of night
My bedroom devoured
If I could only turn
Back to my bed
All this ignored
But I swear
I could hear
between
a triplet
Steps
.
.
.

Cover Image
Nocturne (1870-1877) by James McNeill Whistler