Night on a Maine Island
Will it stop knocking if
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
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