Night on a Maine Island

Will it stop knocking if

No

one answers the door?

Trees sheath spiny fingers.

A dog rests soundly, he knows

the rocks of the shore will wear down first.

In embered light, he thinks – doesn’t think – that the

fight began without him, that he is not the one to be issuing

invitations.

No

one opens the door.

But see how it knocks anyway, how

it doesn’t want to barge in. How nice

things are inside! A sleeping dog and dinner dishes,

how quaint! Better to knock, the forgotten guest, the Wind

and the threaded darkness, salt of the water, breath of the

body.