Knocking

Knocking

What is it?

What knocks on the center of this breast plate?
On this door?

‘Let me in, let me in!’

Who is this visitor
who raps emphatically—
not with force,
but with a tap
as delicate as a 
feather released from a
bird in flight,
flowing , with a swagger,
to the earth

touching the ground.

Yes, the ground feels, hears,
senses its landing
as does my being

and tucks this soft feather
into itself as if
it were ALWAYS there…

known, yet unknown.

In this hour,
in this pregnant silence,

 a creaking doorway
opens.

Here you are…

Welcome.

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