Inconsistent patterns are gathering within, wanting to be
able to fit in somewhere, taking on meaning and presence
for someone.
Unfit and incomplete, they stand waiting anyway, grasping
abstract ideas, taking and placing them with those that
are considered to be a match.
Consistently, they fit like picture puzzles made for each
other, often carrying tell-tale studies into a reality of
sorts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem