I visit your home in the morning,

Weaving in and out of the shadows.

I wake between four-thirty and five a.m.

Before the skunks and the raccoons retire.

Before the sunrise.

Before the morning rush hour.

I stop at your door.

You may be sleeping.

Warm in your bed while I,

Bundled tightly in my large black overcoat,

My gloves, and scarf,

Approach your home,

Walk up the steps of your porch

And momentarily stand there,

At the threshold to your house.

With you inside, unknowing, unsuspecting.

Then I leave my trademark -

Toss it onto the mat.

Gray paper.

Black writing.

Then, anonymous,

I depart.