-reaching for a star-

I've come calling at this early hour

for no other reason but the lightning
thought you this morning.

I'm once again traveling the road
which has one direction.

but one direction is all I need.

I won’t be presumptuous.

the mailbox is empty.
It's me who put you here.
nobody called.

nobody suggested anything.
nobody else has a right.
it's only this.

but I'm making this thing nonetheless.

I think if you're young, I'll be young too,—
when your blonde-hair is blazing on the shale-
grey plane of a Brooklyn rooftop,

as bright in your passions
as I was foolish in mine.

you'll be young enough to ask
what it is I’m saying,— 

which is only that I'm old enough now
to say hello.
will that be you when the door is opened?
what is it you'll tell me?

will you say once again,—

will you tell me again, as when long ago
you said goodbye,—
I made it.

You made it.

We didn’t.—


will that be you when the door is opened?

will you say hello?