Gatherer

I am butter
Spread across too much bread
Left in the summer sun
I cannot
Pull myself
Together

Many parts of me
Belong to yesterday
Found among where
And who I’ve come from
I am less of me
Than I appear to be
For I am scattered
And cannot he gathered

Along winding roads
They grow;
Within hearts
Claiming them as their own;
In swells of happiness
And waves of sorrows;
Stored away for hopeful tomorrows;
Perched on cracked windows;
Concealed in old drawers
Are fragments and seedlings
Freed

I am less of me
Than I appear to be
But I grow far past the bounds
Of these bones
However scattered
I cannot be gathered
For I’m already whole