false start

this time,
i couldn't cry,
love's weary window
closing in response
to your walking out,
my heart’s walls
growing dark.

rock-bottom,
i sketched blind
with sidewalk chalk,
a large tree, purple
not green, that
sprouted between
my bare feet.

next day,
the rain came,
reducing the tree to
a bruise-like smudge,
resting just above
the welcome mat,
which i took inside.

my soul,
block-solid now,
zero-count in windows,
has no greeting mat
on display, where
love's persistent rap
will find no door.