If not for the familiarity
of this place-
the scent of still waters,
the night bright with stars,
paths taken knowingly without stumbling-
then I would be sick for home.
As it is, this place,
with its allure, that is:
a home away from home,
a place I’ve known longer than
I’ve known my husband-
whose hand I would reach
towards in the night,
when our village life
has its own star-dimming light;
an aura that makes
our fingers clasp tightly,
like the fibers of wool
loomed to make a blanket.
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