Looking for answers,
scratching hurried words
with an obstanant pen
old and
dry

I ask questions on
the airwaves
in soundproof boxes; rooms
with damp carpet and years of searching
embedded in cedar walls.

I ask questions because
I am afraid of statements.
I am not an expert
not even of myself.

You let me ask,
you travel with me on wires, chords, through screens,
you are there with me in the ambiguity, in the between spaces.
You are there, holding my voice, humming, the vibrations feeding my comfort raising questions.

Together we search and we don't find answers.
That's not really what we want.