The Soft Divide

i want to build the new great wall.

to stir the cement with ashen fingers,
become visible from outer space
and keep the hoards at bay-

to divide the room, the mattress,
a Berlin Wall of bedsheets.

east and west.
you and i.

keeping from the Cold-

a meridian through the kitchen
your soy, my sugar
our Gaza strip,
displaced loves of war-

i want to build it high enough
to see the horse wheeled to the iron gate,
and watch it come down piece by piece

so that eyes will meet
from opposite sides,
and tourists buy up chunks as souvenirs-

i need the photo opportunities,
the laugh of hammers,
and to reach for you
floating somewhere out across
the soft divide.