When you went away
you meant to lose yourself
searching for a soul.
When you returned
it seemed you had done just that:
Lost yourself somewhere far from home.
You came back with extra pieces
and you were no longer
the five-hundred piece Seattle skyline.
You came back more like
a three-thousand piece Brueghel painting
or a thirteen thousand, two hundred piece antique map, 1655.
I kept the old pieces of you
in a box under my bed
along with three rolls of film, several trinkets, and a stack of letters.
The box is battered now,
dusty and falling apart.
It reads: Seattle Skyline! 500 pieces.