Go and open the door.
Maybe there’s
A feather, a fur
or a flesh
Under
The charcoal sky.
Go and open the door.
Maybe
The leaves’
Thrums
Are whispering a word.
Go and open the door.
If there’s
Mizzle
Soon it will stop.
Go and open the door.
Even if there are
No stamping, no squeals
Of sirens.
If only
The wind
Wanders,
Go and open the door.
At least,
There will be
A green.