I am but a puzzle

Broken apart before the lid was lifted

By unknowing hands

For years the wrong parts

Forced unto each other

Jammed into ideas of the image on the box

Always undone or forcibly bent

The empty gaps lost beneath the table

Desperately destroyed

And redone

And destroyed once again

The ticking of the clock begins to fade

And the hands are older

Fingers maybe stronger

But it is not wasted on what does not fit

There are parts of it now

That make sense when I see them

The rest just to the side

It’s not done and might never be finished

But everything

Takes time.