The obedience of leaving

I left
then was leaving 
when I was told not to

but you let so much of a river pass
by--escaping your treacherous
burning eyes

so I bled down the bank
to where the golden dew shone
like fiery teardrops
as you sat on the stone: 
scalded and scarred
waiting for the gold to rise
to you
and soothe
your weary bones...

but it will come
and it will go,
and in four years 
you will have withered
away
like a house
not built like a home.