Show Me the Door

There was a novel
About a hole in the world
A poet meant to compose.

There is a hole in the world,
Of course. It’s how whatever
Goes, goes, and nothing ever

Comes back. Other things appear,
Sometimes very similar,
But where they come from’s unclear.

What hung the poet, besides
Inability
To create characters, or

To tell a story,
Was the question of the door.
Does everything pour

Out of the same gap
Into which all things vanish?
Or is there another door?