Dumping the puzzle onto the table,
I watch her flip the pieces right side up
as I search for the edges.
We've done this before.
Trying one piece at a time,
her wedding ring slipping to the underside
of her finger as she works.
We try a conversation or two,
but there are so many words missing
that we choose a comfortable silence instead.
Why did I wait to ask the questions
until the answers had only beginnings?
Why did I work for so long
to maintain a distance when now
the middle of her hug
is right where I want to be?
Time changed both of us it seems.
...
On the drive home
the leaves swirl in front of me.
Bursts of color are now transitioning into
bare branches, chilling me to my bones.
Glancing in the rearview mirror
I catch the memory of her waving from the front door.
I wonder what this season feels like to her.
...
Fitting the last pieces into the puzzle.
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