The river that divides us stretches far as the eye can see,
Nor is there end, nor crossing place. Save for a wooden stare
Supported by the tide of previous tears,
That ebbs and flows and heaves against it's creaking boards.

People may try to dismantle the steps we took.
Now that the boards are washed away, we do not even care
Enough to stop them when they want their wood.
We do not need steps, to remind us where we have been,
Or where we do not want to go.

The crevice that divides us is as deep as the pain.
The boundary of our vision stops short, we do not need to see.
I defy that person to cross the border again,
And I would rather leap in than over.