I bring Her my poems
and fall to my knees.
This is my application
to be one of the Ones.
She sends me back,
unimpressed. I drink
and break my vows.
I sleep with many women.
She has accepted so many
while leaving me bereft.
Was there a line to cross
that I ignored? A garden
I ravished that was meant
to stay intact?
Time passes
and I begin again.
In time I begin again.
I wait in line
with the forsaken
but still hopeful.
I sharpen a knife
against my tongue.
When it comes my turn
I scratch my name
on the lowest rung
and take it. My hands
are as faint as a mist
through which the far side
of the world is visible.
I look down and climb up,
slowly and with great care,
as befits a man
who has finally learned
how far you have to go,
and what happens
when you get there.

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