Where do the stray pieces go?
The ones that don’t make it to the fore?
The ones who barely scrape through,
Between the shackles of life?
Those who escape sweeping brooms
Who fall off trucks in darkness and gloom?
Others still who get blown away
Those scraps of paper that fall away
Spare buttons that fall off
The post its with hearts
The fallen leaves of autumn that flit aside
Do they find their whole?
The lines they missed
A way to get through
Do they perish un-claimed
Or huddle in crevices staring away
Watch the world go by
Or do they find their groove.
Their places of delight.