I am lonely.
I have driven past the house I thought we’d share
going on eight times now, and there
is no proof that it has gone back up for sale.

To be honest, I am not fond of it anymore:
its lime concrete and white wire fence are a little
too outdated. Painted cleanly.

A clean escape –  a criminal fleeing
(it was you who left me).

Nothing is natural or mineral
about wood doors looking like an emerald
but the expense was high.

I was lonely.

I called and a real estate agent confirmed I did
not have the means to hold you there
or anywhere, really. The line
broke like pillars crumbling from a lost war.