When we first met, we both were pieces searching
For a whole – bent but still unbroken;
Unafraid to dream though roughly woken
To the hardships which seemed always lurching
Into life – the ones that leave a token
Of untruth although they seem so true
(As pieces of the truth so often do).
But pieces can be mended; parts can be
Combined and forged together; what seemed dull
Can gleam again like new – and so were we
When we first met;– and love has burnished me
And you and set us toward a gleaming goal:
Foundling pieces of a single soul
Pieced together, finally made into a whole.
Originally published in WestWard Quarterly (Winter 2025)
Philip Stephens 