There could be a knock on the door
But I may not be home. It could be

That I'm out in hiking boots,
Getting lost in thought and on trails.

It could be that I am inside—

Maybe I'm too weak to let anyone in
And I sit in the dark, hearing the pleas
But I let the knocking continue
Until it stops and I'm left alone.

This could be what I want—an open
Door leading to the woods, away
From the struggle of knocking.