The Puzzle (7/25/96)

Open the doors and the windows,

wait

for your love under the moon.

Again, wait.

Falling through in motion the lost puzzle pieces be found.

Arrive on wing or by foot.

Wait, do not wait?

Wait.

Breath.

Slowly blink,

free yourself from the wall, that shadow of yourself which whispers

“do not expect these worlds, or continents and countries, or cities, 

or even the small pretty flowers to be for you.

A pile of burned sulfur matches

litters vainly in your shadow

the old candle melted blue and carbon stained.

Its frozen flows caking the round table at the center of an eclipse.

Burned out without wick to burn

the fire has long since gone,

and know against that wall there is only your shadow,

and in the shadow hopeless…

there, 

over the mountains–now too high to traverse–

and beyond the dessert–now to hot to cross–

across the wave torn ocean–not swimmable.

The poles with their heatless icecaps

that freeze all but the heartiest that dare approach 

them

and especially

that

star at the edge of the universe

which just can no longer be touched.

And again, that space at my center which can not be filled

or the pieces be found,

timeless.

Now there is no time.

In the wall find the doors and the windows,

open them, 

and wait under the moonlight.

In the space of insight and patience wait 

here.

Fly in puzzle pieces!

They settle one-by-one toward completeness,

now that the big picture it forms is able to reveal it’s 

love.