Tap, tap

Tap, tap comes the sounding
of the impending farside
as I open my shutters
for you to move just inside.

Tap, tap comes the moaning
of the hours left behind
for our children are groaning
as life's crack grows more wide

Tap, tap comes the beckoning
of the curled and cold-fingered
when a moth slaps my window
(falling abruptly)
in dead quivering remembered.

Tap, tap
tap, tap
tap, tap.