Puzzle: Missing You

Some mornings,                                                   The chair across the room is still empty.

I wake up as the extra piece in a puzzle set.                                                     I glance away.

Flat cardboard, awkward edge,                         If I don’t, the faint jingle of coins emerges,

no designated place to nuzzle into.                      the tilt of your head flickers in my periphery,

Everyone clicks together,                                  the quick grinned shake you gave when I pressed 

picture forming, and                                   sunflower puzzle pieces into places meant for the sky.

I’m just orbiting the box.                                      For a moment, I expect the floorboards to creak,          

I keep sliding myself into the wrong gaps,                                          low hum you used to let slip

pretending I fit until the corners bend.                                    when you thought I wasn’t listening.

                                                                                                        Nothing comes.                                   

                                     Dust settles into the grooves of the leather,

                                                                      striated marks make tree-rings at the worn-out seat. 

The pieces scatter across the table,          

 edges curled, 

 like autumnal leaves.                                                              

The colors blur in the lamplight:                     Not because I think the picture will ever be finished,

a corner of blue mistaken for ocean,                    but because I can almost hear you telling me to 

a shard of yellow pretending in the sunlight.                                                                keep going–

I never get far, but I still keep moving them,                           soft, steady, with that half-smile that

one by one.                                                                             made me believe you already knew

        So, I keep sifting. The image never sharpens,

                 the edges never hold. 

    Still, 

        my hands move.