(For Fr. Francisco R. Albano)
How many more doors must he close
before he would know when stillness
has finally found its way to his door?
Doors swivel here and would not stop
for him to stay; but he dreads staying
because all wanting has finally died,
fervent desires wrinkled on the sheets.
There is just the urgent need now to run
quickly away from the swinging door
that will impale him needlessly to walls
closing down on him even as he spreads
his new-found wings to rise beyond all
this debris of meaning, love’s carrion,
when that is all gone, all abandoned.
whence come the vultures of unfeeling
ennui, numb hearts still beating, still
blubbering about how lonely it will be
before the eager beaks have garroted
their brittle necks straining to grumble
a futile prayer that this visit is too brief?
*Close some doors, not because of pride, nor arrogance, but because they no longer lead to anywhere.