Borges and suicide

 

“The Door to suicide is open,”
Borges wrote.  I opened my own eyes
To wonder why it wasn’t for me.
I fit the profile: old and recently
Deprived of someone I loved.
Why not rush off to where she’s
Gone?  “Theologians,” Borges

Asserted discouraged it
To him.  He was gratified
He could hardly see the
Wall close in.  In my own
Case everything opened out
Without end and here there is
Drought.  Brown prickly

Thorns lying everywhere.  I
See them well enough when
I wake.  My mouth is dry from
The taste of words I wrestled
In my sleep.  The river will
Wake one day and rush me
Toward a crushing conclusion.