Twelve keys lie on the ground, a thirteenth in my hand.
The doors, except one, have already been opened;
they spilt their knowledge over my skin.
A conclusion is not an answer, only the point at which we cease.
I could conclude here and now, and rest,
or use the thirteenth key and find the answer.
Is it really the answer I’m looking for,
or a way out of the answer altogether?
Why am I being asked what the answer is?
Because I’ve been told to find it.
That’s not a good enough reason for me.