I have sent my name ahead of me
like a letter folded into many hands
it travels where I cannot follow
stacked upon a desk
There are doors I’ve already knocked upon
and doors that have accepted my card
somewhere I’m being considered —
a choice at a restaurant
I do not know which one will open
only that I have stood at all of them
long enough to leave the shape of breath
upon the front-door glass
Do I hear an invitation —
a curious whispering
I’d gather myself at once
not as a stranger
but as someone expected in
or dreaming it