Puzzled

Mother Maya spoke the truth “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time” And then the different parts you’ve seen Hard to tell which to believe when what they show don’t rhyme We meet in pieces that we’ve found within, and strangers pick up off the ground parts we dropped or left behind Don’t know what to do with it Takes time to figure where they fit We’d have to sit in puzzlement Or leave the pieces there Edges, rough Corners, sharp Easy Other stuff, the heart— She’s the Art