Little pieces of paper flutter and fly
over the pile of garbage,
somewhere in the city.
Little pieces of paper.
Some square some not.
Browned by time and misuse?
Unloved,
Folded into little crevices
in someone’s cupboard,
Found one spring cleaning day.
Found and torn away.
Torn and thrown away.
Little pieces of paper flutter and fly.
Passersby pass by,
Nobody bothers to look at them.
Nobody thinks of finishing this jigsaw.
If they had had the time,
they would have met
an unspoken love affair,
written in green ink
on the back of old envelopes.
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