Dovecot and Pear Tree

I will not be alone; I'll not be beholden.
I refuse ever to be bested.
She thinks of me as malleable, needy —
but I am intractable. Always.
If one I pursue — no matter for what
reason, for what reason I know not —
hides in dovecot or pear tree, I'll cut down
that dovecot, that pear tree, crush all the doves
and the phantom-girl amongst them — if need be,
if it suits me… I'll crush the image of my loss,
the icon of my desire — my foot will grind
still fluttering wings as I consume,
like a sacrament, the wine of perfidy,
the bread of ruin. You just watch me. I'll do it.