I see the line stream top to bottom, a pipe
That pumps a current, never reaching up
To where the Plumber sits, watching, beckoning.
The bricks built up to push the water through,
Crumble over, the pressure unsubdued.
The distance outlying, no access of connection reached
By human brawn or taught wisdom as tools
That bend and break at touch to the canal,
Until the mountains squished, and valleys leveled.
Then, blind eyes are opened, deaf ears awake
When what heart-shaped words are heard, across
The other side, that other side, a bridge
Is chiseled in place. The current will flow, overdue,
As I posit firm, though lacking cues.
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