I love watching couples debate if they want a poem or not. I can’t hear their conversation or read lips, but I imagine it’s always a ‘do we have cash on hand’ kind of talk. I saw a couple doing this, a middle aged woman with large sunglasses and her husband continued walking. She told me she didn’t think I could write about her subject. I laughed and said I had written on a lot of different subjects. She relaxed and told me her story. She had a 17 year old daughter named Grace who had a mystery illness that no doctor had been able to diagnose properly. For five years, her daughter had suffered a kind of chronic fatigue syndrome and as a result had missed a lot of school. More than the disease, she said, the mystery of not knowing was killing them. She needed a way to deal with that. I told her I was up to the task and wrote a poem about mystery and grace and overcoming obstacles we don’t always see. She was very satisfied with my effort and tipped me a twenty. I thought about how we spend our lives bending over backwards for information, drowning in it, suffering from it. Information glut, one of my favorite writers Neil Postman wrote. But to love mystery, that’s a challenge worthy of a few quests and stories still to tell.