The Unmaking of Bridges
I will ache for that easy intimacy,
our lazy closeness and languid afternoons
we loved and took for granted.
With restless hearts across peaceful waters,
from hard pavements to soft grasses,
like idiot children, we stretch our arms to cover a tiny fraction
of clichéd distance.
Unable to ride the winds and cleave the breakers, we rely
on the desperate stare of a tempered-glass eye
to make out, in scant and pallid detail,
the banks of the sky and the corners of the sea.