Questions

I have too many questions yet to ask: this is too long a break from learning you. The green Fife hills unroll behind the glass.

Impatient motorists lined up to pass wait for straight stretches; I admire the view. I have so many questions yet to ask

you’ll think you’re in a seminar or class on your own life when next I talk to you. The green Fife hills unroll. Behind the glass,

light rain makes narrow highways perilous. I miss you too much for a stranger. Do I have too many questions? Yet, to ask

another journey of the heart, too fast in its affections, on faith alone, won’t do. In green Fife, hills unroll behind the glass,

reminders of the barriers we knew we’d always have to learn our own ways through. Like green Fife hills. Enrol behind the glass: I still have many questions yet to ask.

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