Good to know your . . .
Come over to my . . .
Don’t lose your . . .
That is my . . .
Things in . . .

Place has a space, defined 
With rules, solid, and stable.
It doesn’t splay itself willy nilly
All around rootless, with wobbles.
It lets you sit when the music stops.

Let me wrap myself again in some clear space,
Cries the refugee cast into an unhinged world 
That drove him from the root and blessing of place. 
There is that song that sings, ‘Somewhere there is a . . . ‘
Would that the world would sing it in new found harmony.