Not much to say. In the interim, with equal thanks to T.S. Eliot and Sandra Bullock, here's a middle and last stanza of what has turned out to be a pretty long poem--one that's not yet ready to find its way to public expression--called "Hope Floats".
I didn’t know this then, I didn’t.
I thought the things that matter
Were formed strictly in the place
Where roots and unspoken hope
Converge in one cemented spot.
I didn’t know
That we can walk through any promenade—
The ones in little cities and the ones in the Arizona desert--
And we will still find every missing piece
Safely, solemnly, soulfully tucked beneath
Our best intentions.