When I was young,

I wished to be old.

When I was there,

I wished to be here.

When I was single,

I wished for him.

Now he is here,

and sometimes,

I wish for just me.

Sometimes,

I wish the kids were grown.

Sometimes,

I wish I was just my own.

But then wouldn’t I just wish

for times gone by,

when I sang the children

lullabyes?

Or maybe the puzzle is always complete.

In each moment we live.

We are whole.

We are here.

We are with who we are with.

We are doing what we are doing.

Maybe there are no missing pieces.

Maybe.