Today, or tomorrow, I did some thing,
Which, like most things,
Has its importance swallowed away so quickly
By a blink of the mind:
Like rustling in the middle of the night which
Sounds like the footsteps of God
To your half-dreaming ears—
Like a moment on the street, when you catch a
Leaf upon your shoulder while you’re whispering
To fate…or a friend…
Or both.
But so this thing I did, right now and always,
Had opened up a door for you:
I guided my hand from the knob to the
White painted wood edge, fingers curled—
And you walked right through, like
A pebble entering a pool, no splash,
Just gravity and momentum,
Only faint ripples for me to gather like an earthquake,
As I tried to remember that all opened doors
Must close eventually,
Before the rest of the world walks in.
