If you can no longer love,
you are undoubtedly dead.
You—once the boisterous economy of love!
you and the equal trade of your arms
for years opening them abundantly,
your hands extending toward other hands,
like stalactites and stalagmites reaching for each other.
Your bottomless pond of charity, of giving,
now drained—
you lie broken-boned,
bleeding at the bottom
of that bottomlessness.
Now thirsty, alone,
alienated with your faith,
in your faith,
wandering the desert of humanity,
in the drought of virtue,
in the famine of real meaning and friends—
you are undoubtedly out of business.
You, the bankrupted economy
of unconditional love.
