Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms, like books written in a foreign language. ~Rainer Maria Rilke
The questions themselves
never leave
only grow quiet
from inattention.
Some wander off,
vague as old aunties.
They become pliable,
easy to tuck away
behind the door,
easy to forget.
You can do this too
with practice. It’s
that same way we forget
where their rooms were
in our house those rooms
the questions live in
Locked doors, those
keys we keep throwing away.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 