Out of the question
swim whole schools of questions
flashing in and out
of each other’s shadows
and always followed by a hook
with a point:
Why are there more questions than stars?
How can a small child seeing
through her tiny retina take in
the whole of a starry night sky?
What if our universe is a molecular
speck inside another universe?
Mommy, where do people go when they die?
Do they sometimes get hungry?
What does a whale’s song
sound like to another whale?
What does it sound like to the krill?
How many poets does it take
to change a community?
How many politicians does it take
to change it back?
What shape is love? A sphere?
Does it expand beyond the edges of creation?
Is love what creation is made out of?
How many years of light-speed journeying
brought these glimmer points
to this black mirror of lake
on a dark dot in the Milky Way
where we stand right now
on a softly sighing dock?
© Scott Thompson











