Apart for a while,

But never alone

As others enter

The tapestry of our lives.

 

A small change

Changes me;

A piece gone

From the puzzle.

 

A brushstroke

Missing from the canvas

A branch broken from a tree;

I notice.

 

Perhaps these changes

Mean more to me

Than they should;

The painting may still

Be art.

 

And yet I am

Never whole

Until the brush works once more,

Completing the landscape.

 

I see fields

And sun

Reflecting off lakes and rivers,

Water rushing

Fast and still.

 

Our world,

The world of our

Creator,

Whole, in itself.

Yet broken,

At least to me.

 

And yet I shall

Never be whole

Until the puzzle is complete,

And the piece returns.

 

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