To what shall I liken life?
Fish on a line, flipping and playing against the inevitable?
Music box chime of metal bars and bumps?
Long keyboard navigations of meaning?
Scales winging higher and higher into the sky?

Trust is not a doorway, but a corridor
riddled with a thousand temptations to escape
the long, narrow line to the ineffable Unseen.
It seems (dare I say) mean that once is not enough.
Tear through the threshold, stumble and rise
to fight again the pull of stubborn siren melodies
on every side. Give up. Give up. Give up?
To whom? Myself, or You?
You, You, You . . . doorways snag and slide
but I guess a rhythm through the floor.
Is that Your heart, Father, beating at the end?
If so--if this is how You catch me--
catch and catch and pull me in.