Second River

Without you I slide back into my youth
Acting like the boy I used to be.
To some this might seem pleasant--and in truth,
I have but little shame of younger me.
I have no deep-born angst of older days
That traumatizes when I visit it,
Nor any huge distaste for my past ways:
The shirts I used to wear still even fit,
And I was happy being me. And yet.
And yet I long to be right back with you
To leave my past life where the sun has set
And live the life that we have wrought anew.
I do not miss the boy I was before:
I liked myself, but I like us much more.

Shapes

I miss you not like oxygen or water
(I will not die if you're removed from me)
But like an otter needs another otter
Floating hand in hand across the sea;
Like riverbends need banks to keep their course
Shaping each other over centuries;
Like Scottish oaks bent by an unseen force
Along a cliff swept by a constant breeze.
I miss you in a dark eternal way
That lingers underneath the skin, and itches;
Like stages miss the presence of a play
Or cut quilt cloth the immanence of stitches:
I don't know how to do this without you.
It's fortunate I'm not required to.