Three raps on the door
Why not four?
Who comes to knock at this hour? they say
But is it late, or early?

What are you wearing?
How is the weather?
It doesn’t matter much, if you’re under a stoop
you will be sheltered from the rain
Unless, of course,
the sky is clear
But if sunlight or the moon is at your back,
I have no clue.

But you do.

Who comes to knock? they say
Who are you?

Are you merely the name you are called to?
If that, then what else are you?
Besides the names, the words,
the thoughts
others hold inside their heads

Refracted reflections of
fleeting conversations,
like passing notes
Only mere simple impressions
of the very person you spend every day,
every hour,
every minute walking alongside.

The knock comes again,
at your door.
Who are you?