28 Feburary 2025 - On “Dwelling”

•     I years had been from home, 
  
•     And now, before the door, 
  
•     I dared not open, lest a face 
  
•     I never saw before
  
  
•     Stare vacant into mine 
  
•     And ask my business there. 
  
•     My business,–just a life I left, 
  
•     Was such still dwelling there?
  
  
•     I fumbled at my nerve, 
  
•     I scanned the windows near; 
  
•     The silence like an ocean rolled, 
  
•     And broke against my ear.
      
  
•     I laughed a wooden laugh 
  
•     That I could fear a door, 
  
•     Who danger and the dead had faced, 
  
•     But never quaked before.
  
  
•     I fitted to the latch 
  
•     My hand, with trembling care, 
  
•     Lest back the awful door should spring, 
  
•     And leave me standing there.
  
  
•     I moved my fingers off 
  
•     As cautiously as glass, 
  
•     And held my ears, and like a thief 
  
•     Fled gasping from the house.
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