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)
jigsaw
Caesura
Every road has a finite end, just mud and sky, daytime
if you’re lucky, night looming beyond the paling horizon.
Maybe there is a barren tree, branches dancing
to a slow sonata, a love song only the two of you
know, the earth calmly listening. If you can plant
your naked feet into the ground, you will hear
the earth hum as it spins faster than you will ever
move, and though it always seems like stasis, you hope
it never stops, remains a puzzle
merely a misstep from disarray.
(originally featured in Common Ground Review, Vol. XVII, Issue II)