my bedroom door

there's a man outside my bedroom door, yet it's only 4am,
his breathing's grieved and rawsome, tremored like a child,
and i've bars and glamours to make my shelter, locks of rare

forgotten craft, for i can not make him welcome, will not
call his name without some light of day, he is no ghosted
apparition, too much loving of the flesh, and he's bound

himself to a liar's fabulation, cloaked in a tapestry of
strange design, and haunts the lanes and alleyways, gaining
gardens by their walls, cries in a loathsome moon voice

goes off running with the dogs, and i've seen him hid
in the old tree shadows, seen the shallow of his eyes,
do not relish his deception, give him harbor in your

care, for he's lost all that was dear to him, wrapped his
sins with a parent's hand, drinks remorse like young sparkling
wine; yes, there's a man outside my bedroom door, and

i can not say his name