Average outsiders might peek through

Into us and see a mess

Pieces and shatters
From their pigeon holes, others have no vantage points to see
The first hidden assemblage of our
Mosaic stream, which will
In time, be both a Mirror and a Telescope
They might tout their pristine knots
The higher power splattered our lives with muck
To gift us with the process of
Cleaning up
Piecing together and sooner or later they’ll gather
And zoom into unforeseen galaxies
Where they’ll spy their own hodgepodge floating by
Via our blessed wreckage

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