Who taps? You are not the wind tapping?
_No! Not the wind!_
You straining and moaning there,
Are you a cold branch in the black air
Which the storm has skinned?
_No! Not a cold branch!
Not the wind!_
Who are you? Who are you?
_But you loved me once,_
You drank me like wine.
The dead wood simmers in my skull. I am rotten.
And your blood is red still and you have forgotten,
And my blood was yours once and yours mine!
Are you there still? O fainter, O further.... nothing!
Nothing taps!
Surely you straining and moaning there,
You were only a cold branch in the black air?
... Or a door perhaps?