There Are Rooms

There are rooms in a life that may sometimes Have someone in them; but they are guests there. Even when one most loves, one may find, Really, a solitude that begins at this wall, Ends at that wall; the rest is not entirely ours.

As years turn and suns, moons and stars Rise up and fall like rain by every window Even one's hands will shrivel soon enough Right at the ends of one's arms, as hands Of strangers. But to fret at this discovery Of emptiness arrived at and emptiness Made clear by moon's dance with water, Sun's dance with dust, by endings never sought In even that one room that is one's own, is Not worthy of even that we call our life.

All our guests deserve from us restraint. Little enough we can offer them as it is; In a short while each vacates each room, Feeling for the light switch as each goes. Evening comes. Do not grieve the door.