Knocking Again

Knocking Again

(“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16)

I’m knocking again, knuckles glancing off
the hardwood door. I was never a fan of doorbells,
never knew if they worked our not. I could push the button,
sometimes glowing, and listen closely without knowing
who heard what didn’t ring.

I’m knocking again, three strong raps. My knuckles
know the tempo, the rhythm that explains someone is waiting.
Not four or more, as if I owned the door and you were a servant
called to duty by impatient pounding, the rap of a gavel restoring
order.

But neither one or two; pets bark at those background taps
while we turn the volume up to drown their announcement.Humans hate to rise without knowing visitor, phone call

or just a stalled car started up the hill.

I’m knocking again, three strong raps. I will not repeat
the pattern. I do not fear you will not hear; I wait prepared
to meet the strongest acquaintance who never hurries,
forth or back, fro or to; but strides like time is an
invention; the intersection of elementary and divine.

I’m knocking again, not counting slowness at all,
(though I used to measure the seconds, and measured,
they were endless improvisations, impatience grew
at each repetition).

Now not counting slowness, my mind famished
and concave,
I repeat the music (a collaborative playlist)
and time no longer passes or flashes;
its pace is the easy stride of hand-delivered grace.

I am knocking again…three strong raps.