Missing Pieces

You asked me to hold your hand,
hover it over the right piece
of the puzzle
and plant it there.

To gather together the shards
of my withered mind,
of my scattered consciousness,
and put it in a box.

And I adorn the box with a bow
red and voluptuous,
for you to pull and untangle
and mangle in your excitement.

I know your gaze is soft,
your voice pleasant,
your heart pure as a boy’s,
so I try to give you this gift...

I place it under the tree
in the evening, and you wake
in the morning, 
and tip the contents to the floor.

But you realise few of the pieces fit,
the picture loses resolution with
each new section you place -
that even my own hand isn’t enough.

And you don’t know what to ask for
next year.


~ written March 2025