A bystander

A bystander
You saw my scattered pieces
Scooped them up
Offered them to me
In cupped hands
(Your hands are perfect things)

You held a torch
While I worked in the dark
Meticulously reassembling
What time and sadness had wasted and worn

You appointed yourself reluctant foreman
To an impossible project
Like hope could make anything true
Offered tips and tricks
And watched

You had no final vision
Let me make myself
The thing I needed to be
(Needs and wants so easily defined)

You continue to attend
The work mostly done
Perhaps admiring what you refuse to admit you've wrought
Imperfect but whole
(You are the perfect thing)