We call it a casse-tête, she said
A “break head” if you prefer
We are each trying to fill in this
Jagged, fractured outlook
One piece at a time
On occasion you meet a corner
And they unlock for you new progress
(I think I have even found; a foothold in the face)
Others are peculiar, shaped like spilling liquid
Filling unique holes perhaps unknown to undone artists
Our greatest folly as we find our relative perspective
Would be to assume any kind of now-complete picture
We are dove tailed, ami
In ornate carpentry fine fitted
Angles filled with oil drops to help us burn eternal
An esprit ouvert, she said
In your tongue an open mind
The wise do not distinguish
Value forms of every kind