Walls came tumbling down
in my attempt to embrace the hope
found in love, out-loud and up-front;
but, a part of me knew better,
having never hauled away the bricks,
pocketing the lock and key,
in the event of security forsaken.

Where there should have been mirrors,
reflections of a heart on heart same,
I was left with open spaces, our world
a window through which passers-by
saw things they didn't want to see,
readying rocks in careful aim
at the house we built of glass.

Belly-crawling now, I gather stone,
mixing mortar in sand-grit tears,
unpocketing the lock and key,
raising walls to surround-sound
 my broken heart, wishing to heal,
no peephole or window revealing
the shape of things that never came.