Parts of me are missing
I don’t know what they are
or where to look for them
I only sense the gaps
that keep me from wholeness
Standing under the stars that night
tide coming in, wind blowing--restless
preferring the familiarity of my small room
I was reminded of what I can not name
I fold the laundry
wash out the green glass
sweep the leaves from my doorway
put everything in its place
Except fragments of my Self
out there somewhere
in time and tide
or within—so near
deeper than I can reach
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