Recently, I stumbled across a children’s picture book of Pablo Neruda’s Book of Questions.  It’s a beautifully illustrated book of intriguing, poetic questions, and I bought it, because I thought, this lovely thing can’t just be for children. I didn’t know much about Neruda beyond his love poems, and I certainly didn’t know anything about his Book of Questions, a collection of 74 poems, comprised of 314 unanswerable questions, questions that remind you of a child tugging at your sleeve, “what’s that” “why is” “what for” “how come” “why does”, to which when we apply our adult experiences maybe we can answer, maybe we can’t. When I read the questions posed in the…