“Threshold” by W.S. Merwin

Swallows streaking in and out through the row of broken
     panes over the front door went on with their conversation
of afterthoughts whatever they had been settling
     about early summer and nests and the late daylight
and the vacant dwellings of swallows in the beams
     let their dust filter down as I brought in my bed
while the door stood open onto the stone still smoothed to water
     by the feet of inhabitants never known to me
and when I turned to look back I did not recognize a thing
     the sound of flying whirred past me a voice called far away
the swallows grew still and bats came out light as breath
     around the stranger by himself in the echoes
what did I have to do with anything I could remember
     all I did not know went on beginning around me
I had thought it would come later but it had been waiting