He comes to the door
Crunching gravel
His pace sets the bells
Now his looming shadow
In the warped glass, hundreds
Of tiny vibrating distortions
His deep burnt tan
His coal dark hair
Four thuds on the door
Then quick double
His little coda of hello
Listen to his long breath
It is a cold day out there
I let him linger and watch
An avalanche of stone
A tumbling red rock
Turning he is frosted green
Shrugging, bracing himself
It is a cold day out there
