Modern Romanticism

Beneath
layers of thickening,
broadening fog,
there’s still the sequence
of mutual want.

We’re meant to see
a reflection on one
long-deserted sea.

We’re meant to believe
in the value of our ache,
to prevent heartbreak.

Mounds of earth,
droplets from clouds
are calling us out.
We’ve been drifting close,
hanging onto air,
wilting in despair.

There’s much to make
from the rawest
of isolated ingredients.
We need to recognize them
to decide their place,
to build our shape.

To move us,
to remove us
from what paralyzes
the both of us,
we must be willing
to shout from cliffs,
to dive into depths.