Turns out, it wasn’t a ghost tapping
I’m still here in Morse Code at the window
the whole long morning
you spent pretending the day ahead
might deliver something
to cleave the weight in your chest,
even though nothing but a rapture
would do. You’ve been tired for days.
You’ve got lots of excuses
for being who you are.
It wasn’t some star-crossed lover
plinking your glass with a lot of nerve
and a suitcase of pebbles.
It wasn’t the neighbor kids or the future
It was none of these but a robin
pecking and winging at your windows
like some metaphor,
assuming its own reflection was another
bird. I’ll give it to him,
this one has some tenacity.
He is winning at something.
But all I can think of is that metaphor
and how alike we are for being so hard
on ourselves, here
when the day calls for softness.