The curved edges intertwine,
tightly embracing at once.
Their merry meeting brings
beauty to the chaos
as fragments descend
to its destiny.
One by one, the spaces fill
to blend the Christmas colors.
The lights enchant me and
I, an eager captive,
reach for the last piece:
this season’s summit.
But the table is empty now
and the final key is nowhere.
No crowds in the cushioned seats,
no carols sweetly drifting.
Long hand meets the short on twelve
while a void sits silently
atop my jigsaw puzzle.
Still, I watch the beam of lights,
traversing the pitch-black sky.
All the silhouettes are
never truly empty
and missing pieces
can someday be found. F FATIMA B. BADURIA
