patterns of ink

How fruitless to be ever thinking yet never embrace a thought... to have the power to believe and believe it's all for naught. I, too, have reckoned time and truth (content to wonder if not think) in metaphors and meaning and endless patterns of ink. Perhaps a few may find their way to the world where others live, sharing not just thoughts I've gathered but those I wish to give. Tom Kapanka

About Me

Name: .Tom Kapanka

Location: Lake Michigan Shoreline, Midwest, United States

By Grace, I'm a follower of Christ. By day, I'm a recently retired school administrator; by night (and always), I'm a husband and father (and now a grandfather); and by week's end, I sometimes find myself writing or reading in this space. Feel free to join in the dialogue.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

The Knock

The house

that barely lit a lamp,

content to let the passers by
believe no one was home,

pulled back

at a knock upon the door,

pulled back

the cold curtain

in a trembling pinch,

pulled back an inch

in time

to lean toward the pane,

but not a soul was there—

A few winters back when I originally posted this, a friendly "Anon" ventured a guess that it was about getting a comment when I thought no one was reading. That was half right, ironically it was about the occasional unexpected anonymous comments, although back then any comment was pretty startling. =) ..(I was writing mostly family posts, but only a few friends and family members knew what a blog was, and if they read, they commented by phone or email. They still prefer it that way. =)

[That, by the way, is not our house...]

Labels: anonymous, comments, reclusive writing