always seem
to lead to another.

Some kind of answer,
only then
another question. 

I read a Mary Oliver poem 
and felt it
a love letter to my soul.

“But there are days I wish
there was less in my head to examine,
not to speak of the busy heart…”

But what if
the meanderings of mind-
questions upon questions,
what if
there is joy in it all? 

For Mary Oliver,
and for all of us?

A joy in longing
and asking
and wondering.
A joy in not knowing, even while, 
wanting to know.

I’ve got it!
An answer.

But I hear joy laughing
and doing cartwheels in my head 
and busy heart.

Only for an inhale
I don’t have to wait
for my last exhale 
for a glimpse of an answer
leading nowhere,

I am learning
to live
this benevolent defiance
toward knowing anything at all.

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