If I Knock at the Door of Your Heart
If I knock at the door of your heart
it's because I've stood in the wind
and the wind blows darkly, dear lady,
full of snakes, dismembered limbs
and blackened teeth; please let me in.
If I pry at the lock
on the chains of your arms
it's because I've stood by the sea
in the night while the angry sea curled
and the sullen froth crushed
the bloated dreams of men on the sands.
Undo the lock of your arms
and give me your hands.
When in the shrouded night
of swirling dark forms I knock
at the door of your heart,
rise, light a lamp, let me in soon.
I've come from the road in the forest
where the trees hold strange fruits
in the light of the moon.