The Jigsaw Puzzle

He dropped the jigsaw.
His whole life's work
Just about to be glued
Together, made complete, whole, a finished
Article of organization and skill, a major
Achievement of painstaking thought
And precision: his fingers for years
Following the colours and
Fitting piece to piece to build a picture,
Making unity, fashioning
Out of nothing
Something of sense and vision.

From nothing
To something
And it all came out of a small brown box.
He had gathered patience for years before beginning.

Now he watched in horror
As it slipped from his hand
Crashed to the floor and
Split apart.
Scattered fragments of tiny things.
He could see them slowly
Drift and separate through the air
Anxious to be free
And individual, not merely one small piece
Allied to another.
They did not want
To make a whole, did not want 
To be a unity.

They lay smiling up at him
All the little pieces 
Their colours dimpling in disorder.
Such a satisfying leap
Wrenching themselves each from each and
There was sure 
No picture now.

Stunned, the man sat down, hands
Twitching.
All was gone.  All ruined.  Done.
What would he do?
Would he remember how
To start again?
Did he want to
Re-begin the work
Of a lifetime?  He sat stunned
And thinking.

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