All day I thought about a question
I’ve refused to answer for many years,
its shape now fossilized as if
in amber: its origins disquiet,
its aim to settle. It’s grown
into a thicker shape: layers
that one could peel away and wind
into a ball of thread to span
several football fields, an island,
a continent— really, a length
that might be equivalent to the time
it took first to plant it, ask it,
hold it; then set it adrift in what I
did not know then, as I don’t now.
In response to Via Negativa: Fossilized.