First, love builds
a house. It shields
you from rain.
It guards you
from wind. It
makes altars
for your most prized
possessions. Then,
and quite some time might pass,
love razes the house to the ground.
Tornado, perhaps, or
termites. It doesn’t much
matter how slow or fast.
It’s gone. The house
is gone. And then,
in the rubble, the silence,
the eternity
before you move
to refashion the scraps,
love whispers, and only
some will hear,
No darling, you
don’t need the house.
And then love is everywhere.