The Heart of the Piece

An incomprehensible puzzle
Before me,
A collection of bright jumbled pieces
With one missing –
The one in the middle –
The stolen heart
Of the now finished story
Where have winds carried you,
And abandoned?
Where have fires caught your
Paper wings?
Where have rains washed you of
The colours of life,
To which you were designed as the key?
So, like petals, I scatter the pieces
Of the puzzle;
My hands feed them
To the winter winds;
The same fires and rains which once
Burned you and drowned you,
May know all of you, and as for me
I believe, I would rather
Have nothing
Than have all but
The heart of the piece