She’s always seeking new answers to old questions – she seeks afar.
Categorized and cataloged neatly on her shelves
the answers are at hand concealed beneath a shroud of dust
close to home much closer than she knows as close as a heart to a mind
the precise distance a line traced by tears descended to the border of her smile.
Her face is a treasure map
lovingly etched with careworn creases her latitude and longitude
clues to an uncharted realm where her archive is buried deep.
If we keep digging we may unearth her truth.
Four hands on one shovel make slow work or fast.
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