tell me,
what is it about the
unknown that leaves
my mind unsatisfied?

If the camellia
only blooms in the
bitter frost,

why must others wilt?
when the rain lands on
the little girl’s raincoat,
why does it form droplets?

when she sits in class,
alabaster skin with the face
of a doll
why
can I not
read
her?

Softly she speaks
with confidence
and poise.
her words trap me
in a prism:
a confined cage
of intoxication
and mysticism

She’s stuck
in the modern times
trapped in the 60s.

Help me,
all I ask
is to seek answers
about the ambiguity
of her
as she extends far beyond the field
of vision,
to no longer remain
a mystery.