Dozens of puzzle pieces suspended in the air.
All day, I’ve wondered why no one else
seems to see them—dangling as they are
on the hiking trail and in the kitchen this morning,
over the highway and at the birthday party.
All day, they appear with their knobs and inlets,
their gray backs and colorful fronts,
spinning like small bits of certainty.
Sometimes I feel one fit into place
in some larger puzzle I don’t actually see,
but when a piece slips in, I feel it
with my whole body—a snap, a link,
a small yes. I don’t know whose hand
is doing the work. I don’t know where
the pieces came from nor where they should go.
All day I wait for it, the feeling of being lifted
out of my life and placed back in
exactly where I belong.
