Jigsaw misfit

A hundred scattered pieces,

One held between my fingers,

Some fit perfectly in place,

While this one just lingers.

Started from the bottom,

On a washed plain board,

Forming half the picture,

While the other half ignored.

Now comes the corner,

The anchor that holds together,

Framing the picture alive,

Acting like a tether.

I’m hooked in a trance,

Piece by piece, one after one,

With the picture getting clearer,

Maybe I’m nearly done.

I keep finding the right ones,

To place them at right spot,

As surprising as it seems,

I’m sensing some kind of plot.

That maybe I’m just moving,

But my actions are on guard,

Maybe someone else placed the pieces,

While I simply pushed down hard.