The Questions

Why do I find myself here at this place and time?
Why are these people my friends?
Why this woman my mother?
This man my father? My brother?
Why this woman my wife—
so simple, gentle and pure?
Why am I, I? And you, you?
And why are You my God, O Yahweh
and not Molech, Adonis, or Thor?
Why is this planet my home—
so green, but so terrible in winter?
And why do You care for us—
frail creatures on the edge of the Milky Way?

Questions within questions
like mirrors facing mirrors.
If You were to answer one,
another would appear.
I look into them and see
the edge of the universe receding
and then the dark expanse that has hidden You
from our eyes now and always.


—Eric Nelson