All day fear knocks
or bangs at the door,
sometimes whimpers,
each time an invitation
not just to open the door
but to tear it down,
the walls, too,
to unclench both hands,
though you think, I can’t do this,
but you do, and while
fear hangs on you like a leaden
scarf, like wet gray wool,
you notice how dazzling,
how warm the sun.