THE STRANGER AT MIDNIGHT

THE STRANGER AT MIDNIGHT

At midnight someone tapped the pane,
Three gentle touches through the rain.
I drew the curtain back to see,
A stranger standing there for me.

His coat was black, his collar high,
His eyes held something of the sky.
And though his hair was wet with rain,
No shadow followed in his train.

He did not ask to cross my door,
Just waited on the step once more.
I ought to send you home, I said,
But opened up the door instead.

He took my hand and bowed his head,
You called me in your dreams, he said.
I knew that voice, so low and near,
From nights when no one else was here.

The candles stirred as he came through,
Their little flames burned deep and blue.
He left his coat beside the chair,
And brought the scent of nightfall there.

May I come closer? Soft and slow,
He asked as though he did not know.
I answered with an open hand,
And drew him where I wished to stand.

His fingers brushed beside my cheek,
I had so much, so little to speak.
Then on my lips a lingering kiss,
As though the dark was made for this.

We danced without a single tune,
Across the silver of the moon.
His mouth came close beside my ear,
And said my name so I could hear.

But when the sky began to pale,
His hands grew light beneath my shawl.
I tried to hold him close to me,
As morning took what I could see.

His coat still hangs beside my door,
Though he has come to claim it no more.
But when I lift it to my face,
Warm fingers stir beneath the lace.