The tools were all there
for a long and lasting home.
Cherry red bricks gleaned in the sunlight,
yellow mortar waited expectantly.
Roses budded, forming gentle, protective walls.
The tools were all there
anticipating,
yearning.
Finally, we picked them up
and began to build.

We didn’t get very far,
We thought it was enough, those few layers, to protect
Us.
No. You didn’t get very far.
You set your tools down, left them in the
white-tipped grass.
I stood there alone with mine.
But they grew too heavy for
One.
I knew it wasn’t complete.
You saw a home, but
I saw a house.

The night wind blew cold
You kept the blankets.
The sunlight grew dark
You hid the lamp.

The roses died, black and stiff,
the grass choked with weeds.
You never saw the bricks fall, so -
on my way out -
I locked the door we never had.