A Different Kind Of Speaking

We loved that house
as if we had formed each brick
with our own hands, laying each
one in its place, knowing each
by name. We moved out and then
moved on, and it felt as though we
had laid its foundation with
the concrete of our memories
and given shape to each story.
Now that the scaffolding was down,
we laid it next to the moving boxes
in the truck bed, like flowers 
beside a grave, and with a deep
breath, we turned, said our last 
goodbyes, and went away.