Sitting cross-legged
on a pillow in Paris
struggling to match
fairy heads with
their wing bits
I am teased by peices
of jigsaw, flower bits
that nearly match, but don't
fit their expected space.
then suddenly
dark puzzle peices
become midnight's forest,
leaves rustle by moonlight,
pools of magic are everywhere;
engrossed in the pairing
of frogs and princes
I slip into their world
and so, the puzzle book
completed and shelved
leaves me stashed
in a cardboard world
of mystery.
Paris, 2004
