A Single Line- She Builds It Up- You Wreck It Down

Along an icy pond the witch 
awaits you with your old 
toy sailboat in her hand.

You passed her once in the white 
wall of the city, laying your head 
where her heart use to be—

her white dress waving in the 
footlights, showing the parts of you,
you so so gladly threw away.

In the melting streams of spring the 
pond turns into a mirror revealing the 
stilt birdhouse you built for her.

The s streams takes you back to her, the 
ebb tide pulls you forward  to her dark— 
the same thing you wanted to know.

What she has done, you can’t give it a name— 
the day she walked away— leaving you 
amidst all the high reflecting windows—

her not  caring what you were building 
in there, for her, behind the casement 
she could never fully see through—

the madness taken from the nightstand—
the laptop in the middle of the crisp, white
 linen sheet of the four poster bed.

She just dreamed you up and left you there.
When you dashed for her there was nothing 
but a crushed rose left on the stairwell—

And amidst the sinking remnants of that old 
toy boat, she vanishes— thinking of that line— 
that built you up— broke you down.