"These fragments I have shored against my ruin..." -- T. S. Eliot

Me too.  Black Rose and Irish music.  Durgin Park dinners.
Walking arm in arm across the common, 
Back to 57 Stuart Street hotel,
The rain deluge crossing the street,
Drenched love,
Times Square on New Years Eve,
New York Steak and Ale, was it?
On Long Wharf, or am I growing foggy?

Walking into your families home on Christmas afternoons,
"Shit or get off the pot."
"Don't call him Mino".
There are dozens of Greek churches in Maine.
And dozens and dozens of Greeks.
But no kids.  Ben to Seattle, Elise to North Carolina.
Haven't followed them across the country.

What was the problem?  How could it happen?
Who meddled?   What intervened, what mistakes?
Who wanted What?
Why did they make Teddy my boss?
They all knew who he was.  What can they want?
Flowers for two Mondays.  
Tickets to a concert.  "Never say never".
What carrots?  What's the point?

Tickets returned for Gus and Barb.
Are they still together?  What about the circular
Firing squad?
After all this time, how can these ruins
Still linger.  Still awaken.  Still congregate at
All times of the day and night.

These fragments won't dissolve,
There are many newer ones, and even older ones,
But those remain unanswered.
I heard somewhere, maybe Susan,
That it is Florida, now a home?
Where?  What?  Why?

That's the point -- Why?  Why not?
Why won't these fragments dissolve?
What is love?  What is peace?
The cardinals mate for life, Susan preaches.
Habits mate for life.  What of the ruins?
What clears the ruins?
How to rebuild what went wrong...

Who wanted to end things, never said goodbye.
Just walked away.
Then drove away.  Far away.
And stayed away.
Never to return.
Never to surrender.
"These fragments I have shored against my ruin" -- T. S. Eliot

What a waste.  There are Greek churches in Maine.
Never said goodbye.
Never whatever.