Hiraeth

Once I left a letter

in the folds of a book

and forgot all about it.

Days after dust had gathered

when I pulled it out 

to survive one draughty afternoon,

out fell a square piece of

neatly folded paper. 

A letter I had stowed away

which you had written to me.

I do not remember you lover!

A blurry face peeks at me

from a crowd of faces

I've taken to various places

inside me.

Doorstep, foyer

nooks and crannies

Bed chamber or the attic.

I picked it up unknowing that

the smell of old memory 

lurked in the folds of your letter. 

Filling me with a longing

for a place I've never been

Or may be once in a dream

seen a tiny cottage on a lonely hill

with yellow lights in the window

and a silhouette of a woman

who hovers unsure, from room

to room, looking for a prayer book

in a cottage under somnolent stars.