This is a siege.
I hear your voice beyond the door
You sing my name and you want more
But I'm locked away by choice.
The winter wind indifference is fierce
and heavy, just like tears.
The garden is hidden, and inside, it is dead.
You have the old place
without forwarding address.
You sit at a remote outpost and
eat some beans and bread and
choke down bitter coffee with your aspirations.
I am not home.
I do not love you.
I will not come away with you.