Ecstatic is the timbre of his voice,
and manic is the rhythm and the tone
he uses to describe his three days’ choice
at midnight Sunday on the telephone.
“Enthusiastic” sounds a pallid word
that intimates but can’t surround his zeal.
Predictable in eagerness, absurd
in dim naivete: he’s that unreal.

My friend is a lieutenant in his soul,
a born disciple searching for a saint,
a sergeant advertising for recruits.
He’s guru-starved and picket-lined, a hole
inside his heart, his silence a constraint,
and self-suppression overruns his roots.