Your steps appeal—
how could the sound amount
to much
The daily rite of your
approach
The door whose boards
you never knock
How hard the species
of the stock
How firm the feel
when knuckles touch
How dark the echo
or how bright
on either side of daylight
That double door that keeps you shut
stays double-locked
You double-check it every night,
within, without
The Replanted Writer 