Mind in pieces
Cut by jigsaw in particular ways
All native to their position
Yet some faded by the weather
Snapped by friend or foe
Or stolen
Gripped tight by spiteful time

We work with what we have
The scarce bits of us
Those clinging to functionality
As seasons pass
Work dillignatly to see the contours
And combine them
In their places predetermined

As you look to your work
The gaps and frayed edges
Know that fate may determine the shape
And nature will consume all that it may
Yet your actions are your brush
Barren surface – your canvas
Reward yourself and others
With visions of your own design



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