You have gone up the mountain again,
To frolic and fight with fun and feisty teenagers,
To a co-counselor who is uninvolved,
And I miss you.
I miss you like Swiss Miss, it’s just hot milk without you;
Miss you like Saigon, pho has lost its flavor;
I miss you like William Tell missed his son’s head in splitting the apple, there is not enough time in the arrow whizzing by and that’s exacerbated by the minute temporal discrepancy between you at 10,000 feet and I at 5;
I miss you like your tresses, lover, we were in bed just the other day, bargaining with the sunrise for just another hour, my fingers tangling in hair like it was its atmosphere, as if they have always pined for purchase, to be locked and tied, to be knots you don’t want to brush out;
Miss you like baseball, swing and a, this bat is just driftwood swatting at the air;
Miss you like the moon misses her husband, the mountains, and her lover, the clouds;
Miss you like Charleston misses her trees.
You have gone up to make a difference and
I miss you.