Liturgy of the Second Check For the one who returns to the doorway. For the foot that finds the creaking board and pauses. We give thanks for breath we did not have to count, for the quilts that hold the shape of turning. For the hand that hovers but does not touch. For the lamp left on in the hallway, its small covenant. Let us remember the fathers who stood at the threshold between two darknesses— the one inside, which is safe, and the one inside themselves, which is not. For every night the house held. For every night it was only a house. We ask nothing. We check again.