A person wanders through a house or a night, opening doors and unable to rest. The poem is very short, but it sketches a whole state of mind. The first lines make the doors almost human: they "confess all" to the speaker's hand, as if touch alone reveals what is behind them. There is a hint of curiosity, even hunger, in that idea, the urge to open and know.
Then comes a more reflective turn. Faith, the speaker says, has "many temptations," which suggests that belief is not calm certainty but something that pulls at you. The doors may stand for that pull, each one a chance to hope that an answer waits on the other side.
The last lines settle into weariness. "Lumber" suggests a heavy, clumsy body pacing back and forth, and "never go to sleep" makes the search feel endless. The mood is quiet, restless, and a little haunted. The title, "Liminoid," suggests thresholds, the in-between space the speaker seems stuck in.