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.