I wonder too much in the morning, alone at breakfast with the sun coming in. I wonder as I drive. I am never in the fast lane. I wonder at work, taunting deadlines every time I turn my chair to the window. I wonder mostly at night, and most wondrously there: Often I walk beyond the city lights, crack some beers, throw down a blanket. And with my back to the earth I stare, straight up, to as far as I can reach… Thoughts morph into moths, land around puddles of questions: Potent, energized questions that the moths roll their tongues over. Each one drinks, each one fills with a question. Then off they go, quick as lightning, zipping back and forth across my head , bouncing off my skull with mind-aching determination. The questions know no answers exist here, so they break through my eyes like bats from a cave. Up they go, zigzagging their way to the great mystery, the thing that holds this cloudy blue marble in its black grip.