MOVING IN

Don't wait for the wind to blow you through the door,
If you need help, here is my hand, I said.
Don't let my walking on the hollow floor
Frighten you, only the dark air is dead.
People more than things can fill a house.
Sit by me on these boxes in the gloom,
Here, with our crumbs of living, like a mouse,
While the fire burns the strangeness from the room.

You answered: Something makes me want to hide
In open air from walls where cobwebs cling.
It's here in me and not with you inside,
Neither an emptiness the years have made,
Nor a house bare of any human thing,
But being afraid that I will be afraid.


Paul Engle



NEXT POET ~ George Noel Gordon, Lord Byron "FAREWELL!"

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