The Absence of Wavelength

Thanksgiving

Gnarled Giants plucked
Of Autumn hair
Greet the seldom seen
Outside a festive door
Where hollow echoes of
Tapping on cement stoops
Alerts of first arrivals.

Blind doorsmen with their
Sunken orange faces
Gaze upon these visitors
With woolen garb adorned
By Winter's wily truants:
Tiny white kisses that wet
Scented warming trays
And deliverances of cheer.

The door unsealed,
Quick to open afresh --
Embraces ignore the chill
Behind each one, then closed
Before the encumbered relief.
A wet clutter drapes, lingers
Beneath, the lone chairs.

Renewed hearts gather:
Men at the hearth,
Women at the table.
Only the voices
Of children do not disappear.
The accumulated din --
A harvest of messages
To and from each chin,
And why
It's been so long
Since the last greeting season.