Art by Ruchini Rupasinghe

We diverged eons ago

      by that stream deep in the forest,

before it forked east and west

             into our lineal family crests. 

The last time we saw each other

was on that quaint river bank 

         somewhere in the

                    clump of semi-Pangaea.

That landmass would later melt and distort,

thrust into the mould of countries and courts.

 Of course, you know nothing about them. 

     The only boundary that matters to you 

       is the sacred border of dignity. 

That time we said goodbye, with the promise of reunion,

        was so subtle and unremarked

         as to escape any mention in history. 

Perhaps we forgot, or maybe the river swelled overnight, 

but we never returned to that common shore.

In that time, we’ve changed, become gnarled,

     weathered and chiseled by the Sisyphean world. 

You stayed on all fours, knees bent the wrong way. 

I stand with hands to hold, yet I’ve lost our mane.

As promised, here we meet again, 

     finding our way through the brambles of time

      finally converging in the hold of our arms.

           Cradling each other, 

like a friend long lost.

The shared inhabitance between man and dog,

            a parabolic embrace across space and time. 

     Why else do we share a love so inexplicable

             if not a rekindling?