Wealth of broken pieces

I set out to write something about putting together a mosaic, and found that I am in the place of contemplating which pieces belong.  I*ve been here before, many times.  It seems this is a time of waiting to know what fits, which are the pieces that belong.  Of course I thought I knew this already.  No.  Darn it all.

Early on

When the Whole

I thought I*d begun

Broke into smaller pieces

I found it all

Shattered into possibility.

The Whole somehow

Had to include

Stray bits from the wayside

Polished pebbles out of the riverbed

Shards of broken glass from the street

Chunks of rock.

I knew I would never get back

To the original picture.

Indeed

I never knew original

Anyway.

Here I am

Later on

The Whole broken

Into smaller pieces again.

There is a wealth

Of broken pieces:

Polished pebbles smooth to the touch;

Shards of colored glass

I hold up to the light;

Chunks of rock I can sit on

While I wait,

While I figure where and if

They fit.

Here I am again:

More pieces,

A veritable wealth

Of broken pieces.