meeting again away from land

I've oared this lonesome river now
a score and seven bright summers,

my boat so far from well-known shore,
I sometimes despair its sight.

Then you, my paddlemate from youth till late,
approach from port with shining eyes.

You must forgive me my surprise,
you are no more the girl I've known,

You've grown. I grip your gunwale like a door,
and rest my paddle, you rest your hand.

I know this hand, its bones and blood,
but your woman's frame I do not know.

I cannot even understand your speech.
You reach across to grip my arm.

You point upstream, what way you came.
I look and remember it just so,

and wonder that we passed so close,
and yet not close at all.

So I point downstream, what way I'll go,
you do the same, I understand.

And so it is, my twenty-seventh year,
we meet again away from land.