I’ve been sitting in the quiet of it for a while now
There’s this funny sort of silence
That follows the click of a door
catching its lock
A small gasp from a hollowed out room waiting for its new tenant

It’s not hard, living on this side of the door
Sometimes it’s worse
You do a lot more than knock
Or just sit trying the knob
Remembering how it felt to turn under your palm
It’s your house, and the door is merely a suggestion, right?

I don’t mind this quiet any
The flock of opinions always settled in the scenery
Has turned in for the night
So it’s just me now
With this door
Enemy, lover, gut-puncher, friend
The joke is I’ve always been married
to someone, or something

This is as close to settled as it gets, I’m afraid
Stood with my back pressed into the wood
Asking to be kept in
and to stay out
Maybe that’s why that click in the door
It always sounds like,
“good luck”