We think completing the jigsaw
depicting Earth will complete us, but
4 AM we float in half-consciousness,
hoping to realign our orbit, still aimed
into vastness, a jumbled mess on the
floor. Even the dog snores. Earlier,
Disco ran across our tarot cards, shuffling
a wrangled meaning into fate. The Hermit.
The Star. The Hanged Man. I try to string
together half-correlations. I want to drink
more. I open the window and inhale.
I look into the dark and wonder
how we can piece it all together.

(originally published in Artvilla, Spring 2023)