Homesickness

She feels familiar
in the watery sun of memories,
those lavender sunsets
where kites soar,
flying high to find their homes
the rhythm of their silhouettes
amidst the passing clouds,
the safeness of her 
soft fontanelle,
imprinted as an immortelle,
over her deep seas of 
nostalgia in waves,
not foreign or strange
she feels like home.

Her overcoat of flowers
draped across a chair,
her touch a dove
upon the cheek,
the yearning for her voice
of fallen leaves and streams
and the flower scent she wears.

I reach out for the hand inside her
through her coffee shop gaze,
the train sets out north
for the ferry from the south,
along the dusty long shadow 
tracks and distant haze.