It is often the business of life
to propel one along,
to bring together, bond,
then separate,
leaving something
of yourself behind.
Somewhat disconnected
we are loosely anchored
with ill-fitting
temporary objects of desire.
And in the contrived adjustment
we occasionally find
excess pieces falling out of pockets,
blurred photos
floating from memory,
odd puzzle remnants
of what was left over.
I like it. Yes.*
I really like the middle stanza, Judith -
"we are loosely anchored
with ill-fitting
temporary objects of desire"
Wonderful notion. Good piece.
JP and Sam,
Thanks for your comments and the fav. I thought this one would disappear over the horizon.