The pieces yearn for each other. Little twists with soft, round arms reach out to open spaces that almost fit, but not quite. They want to lock together, but there is only one good match and they may never find it. Now, nothing locks together, they are scattered on a wide plain, inches apart for safety, and yet searching for something, like 500 little turtles who can only look for what they find. Read more of Ray Skjelbred’s poetry.