The inside of a deserted house: from the window, light illumines dust settling to create a blanket of forgetting over furniture. Even if the air disturbs the process, slowly, every particle finds its spot, a place where it conveniently covers up some distant memory - on a nearby table, a partial puzzle waits. One piece is still a lost unsettled edge, indisposed. The idea that it is the missing piece completes its sadness. In only one spot can the table top be seen. Untouched, unfinished, the puzzle succumbs to slow forgetting what is lost while dust fills the gaping gap.
According to my notes, I wrote this on June 11, 2013.
I apologize for the side-scrolling. I wanted to preserve my line cutting, so I needed to use pre-formatted text coding for this poem. If I could just find a way for the text to shrink and fit the width of the post area, I would use the regular font for this template, which I actually adore.
Please tell me what you think about my poem by leaving comments. Thanks in advance!