hiraeth:
(n) A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home;
a home that is no longer or perhaps never was.
This is not the place
Where the river flows
Rerouted to a moment of déjà vu
Over some other town.
Where the leaves were a different green
Growing on different trees.
The past was another shape to this
And the stranger I ran into
Had eyes a different shade of blue.
This is not the room, back then
The sun shone in a different light
With windows on a different view.
There were more reds in the sunsets
Back in that other place.
When it shone on lazy summer paths
Wandering through those dragonfly lanes.
And that stranger I ran into
I remember eyes a different shade of blue.
This is not the skin, the feeling is not the same.
The fields of wheat we walked through are gone now.
Just a ghost remains of the golden hue
That holds the moment in my mind.
That road, pavement pools sparkling in the rain,
Takes me past the turn
But never back to the door of home.
Never back to the stranger
With eyes that were a different shade of blue.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 24 June 2016
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