She strives to assemble the puzzle
but the boundaries are difficult to find.
Irregular fields of every kind.
she rides a river of cloud
en route to complete the connections
with enchantment as her ever-present guide.
All the while death chases her body,
trees are felled en masse.
More pieces of the puzzle lie asunder,
mad landscapes of the mind.
Sophia studiously contemplates the same that many have tried
but there’s nothing new under the sun here,
same chemistry of life.
she spins a web of feeling,
fragile threads blown by time.
Her parcels small bundles of particulars wound up in heart and light
to sustain her rites of passage
through random journeys and jagged nights,
until mountains of query
mirror joy and brine.
Inconsequential dander is gold in the mine!
Her eyes are astronomy.
Her fingers are art.
Her legs are Linguistic.
Reason is her knife.
She is now.
She is whole.
Her story shines.
Purpose is evident in the arc of the rhyme.
Be(come)ing a piece of the puzzle
is to fit and define
and the edges.
jeannie dugan sanders