They came in the hours as I dreamt —
no knock, no name slipped under the door
only the sound of pages turning
in a house that was locked
They tried to scrape the cadence
the way a thief palms a gem —
not the thing itself
but a rubbing from the nameplate
the domicile from where I dwell
I still accept visitors but
I wrote the Terms
I named what could not be borrowed
and signed it with the year
The fence does not stop weather —
it keeps the wolves polite