from The Book of Questions (after Neruda) VI-X

VI.

Did you know sharks in captivity can be so lonely
they resort to Immaculate Conception?

But aren’t walking sticks that end in museums
the saddest case scenario?

Why do some old paintings
only speak their secrets in moonlight?

Will our love ever reach that place
where it has the desirable cracks of old paintings?

VII.

Why are some questions made of fire
but others sea foam or wind-blown grass?

If a question is a vampire,
must it seek its coffin before the sun rises?

Why is it that small children
carry as many questions as daggers?

Where do all the unasked questions go
and who is their blind shepherd?

VIII.

Why does each morning start
with a bruise on the sky’s wrist?

Who is trying to hold the night back
and not let it leave?

Why is the sad lip of a vase in the museum
suddenly your ancient lip?

Has this morning been shaped by a potter
who died long ago?