Enigma

I will never know

Whether the doors are to open or to close,

If the closet keeps things from me

Or me from things,

If I hug coincidence

Or it hugs me.

I will never learn

Why kindness is fear’s shadow sometimes?

Why do flowers die when they wake?

And why is not the sun tired

Of rising and setting everyday?

But I know why I write

Good enough.

Every word is an orphan

And I am a rich generous lady.