B of E #16: the man who knew

he could tell when he touched the door

there had been no signs
no clues or expectations
but the moment the hand that held the key
came in contact with the door
he knew

perhaps an absence of vibration
or a hollowness
seeping from around the edges of the door-frame
perhaps nothing
who knows how the senses intuit or infer

he stopped
with the key halfway into the lock
and wondered if he should retrace his steps
get back into the car
return to work for an hour
then start out for home again
but that wouldn't change anything

he knew

~

when a voice speaks into silence
it can jar                sound over-loud
but in a moment
the emptiness will assert itself
and reply with a touch
on the shoulder
a shiver along the spine

footsteps echo
like a cathedral funeral
reverent and ominous
while familiar objects
become mysterious messengers
mutely trying to communicate
matters of great moment
if only

great matters of if only

and the scan of these once-familiars
leads inevitably
to the new item
the one supported
by cut-glass salt and pepper shakers
gifted on the big day
so long ago

a stark white rectangle
with his name
addressed in the tell-tale loops
that once suggested open fields
and laughter

it beckons

~

the quiet can be a companion
when any noise would be an intrusion
in the hours past darkness
spent thinking
and wondering

so many possibilities to consider
so many ruled improbable
by the fact of the envelope
thinking the worst
dismissing the benign
reviewing all that he knows and can recall

deep in an armchair
in the dark
the only sound
rhythmic tapping
of an unopened communication
against a twitching leg

he cannot work it out
in his mind
but he knows

he just knows

~