The Bird and Baby

Two lamps makes horns
over a rectangle door,

On a square porch
with a concrete floor.

Standing beneath the overhang,
that rolls the falling rain

down both sides
of it’s windowed eyes.

I knock just twice,
remembering the advice

of an old teacher
that warned of the over-eager.

I hear footsteps,
and a quick exchange of breath.

One.
Two.

One.
Two.

And I could not but love you.