Pinks of the Universe

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No camera for the next few days! How could I leave anywhere without it? I must have been intoxicated by creative juices and terrific company.
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Caroline's recent watercolor reds and pinks inspired me to take a second look at this poem. I wrote it while standing in the quicksand of hope. It's one of my favorites.
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Hope
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1.
We planned that stolen trip
to Kansas City when the dogwoods
readied to open wide,
the pinks of the universe
reassuring that some things deliver.
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2.
I thought about strolling in that promenade,
reaching for the wild roots--
trusted jubilant hands
washing secrets clean
and steadying those fickle fears.
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3.
I thought along the streets
we’d find some stones,
lying there like easy promises,
different in pattern and size
but rock solid, like the sound
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4.
Of running water at midnight.
I wanted to hear you turn the faucets--
your impulsive hand guiding
the steady flow
of this surprising outcome.
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5.
I didn’t dare tell you
about the questions
lying at the curb
tucked under hidden trash,
safely protected by petrified answers--
not the kind that cause rigor mortis
but the kind that strengthen
even when they bend.
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6.
I wanted to tell you I felt safe
that day In Kansas City.
I told myself that I could
let the roots and water and questions
wash over me
until I was soaked in my own security.
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7.
I wanted you to know
about foundations built on sand
but fortified through grace and gravity--
strengthened when muscle and movement form,
and skin that protects—
and even glistens—
from the August place where we began.
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8.
I wanted to tell you we are both safe here,
that whatever happens hope will float around us.
I wanted you to know this.
I thought we should both know.
So when the itinerary changed
I was not prepared.
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9.
I wondered how long it will take
for the obvious to settle,
until Kansas City is Chicago
and Chicago is Newark
and the curbside trash
Is worth every stretch and every risk.
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10.
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.
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11.
I thought we could walk on this one promenade
and resolve our differences in only this one way. .
I didn’t know until the very moment
when you changed the plan
and the opportunity was gone
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That even in the years ahead—
even through disappointments
too quickly frozen in place
we will still be here and there,
slip sliding straight into
the destiny of a sunny day,
looking down, and then around,
comfortable in our common ground.
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12.
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.