Two continents insist on their division,
repelling, pulling father from the other.
Torrents of a deepening sea swelling between them,
waves crashing without mercy upon each shore.
The foundations that serve to uphold their connection
are built from the minerals of both worlds,
yet all bridges eventually collapse.

Two hearts turn away from the center
imbittered, scarred, left to warm their own fires.
The distance in her voice sequestered in her thoughts,
The draw of his eyes dreaming in some other night,
a living gravity severed, two compasses pulling apart
leading to separate shores of the same melancholic ocean
to wander through the ruins of the heart,
to scavenge amongst the rubble of the earth,
where all bridges eventually collapse.

In the blood, there sings a voice,
before the branching arc of a vein,
a drum that resonates with ancient thunder.
Histories, hearts, roads divaricate like bolts of lightning
in storms at sea, illuminating the truth of the night
with blinding, holy light, instances of clarity too swift
to register in the mind, yet burning throughout the senses—
all bridges eventually collapse.