Image tensed,
I eye the instant,
Anticipation welling—
And I expect no one;
In the lit shadows
I watch as the doorbell
Sheds its inaudible
Pollen of sound—
And I expect no one;
Within four walls
Astounded more by space
Than any desert place,
I expect no one;
But come he will,
He must, if I hold on
To bloom unseen;
He'll suddenly appear
When I am least aware:
Coming as if to forgive
All he gives to death,
Coming to assure me
Of his reward and mine,
Coming as anodyne
For my pain, for his—
Perhaps his whisper is
Already on its way.