The Boats Had, Slid Across the Waters Silently Unnoticed in the Rain

The Water Listened Closely

To the Sound of Time, Standing Still on the Lake

It’d Been Told, that Time Had Been Gone, a Very Long Time Ago

After the Clouds Returned for a Visit

not my photo…

They’d Come to

A Corner of the Roof of a Certain Tall Building in the City

And, Rained Down Gently

You’d Read Aloud that Water Mark of You Leaving Home Back Then

Those Memories You’d Let Go of Became Like

That Small Deer that’s Turned Its Head

The Maple Trees Left that Dampened Shadow in Isolation

Seeming Distant Yet Very Close by

The Bells Rung from the Tower Sat in a Straight Line

alone now, on your journeys in life, not my photograph…

Locked Up in the Events of History in 1949

Still, Trying to Escape, in Its Dream State

Those Passengers that Were Lifted Away by the Ships Boat by Boat

Then, it Took, that Last Scent of Nostalgia Too from the Island

Lalu, Lalu

What Passed by, Were All Those Moments of the Past We Couldn’t

Hold onto

And the Gods Had, Retreated, Leaving Behind

A Forgotten Word that’s Become

A Tear in a Prayer, that’s Slowly, Reduced in Size

There’s that strong sense of loss from this, that scent of leaving behind what one loved and knew so well, to go elsewhere, for whatever reasons there may have been, and the narrator’s heart is, tied, to her/his homeland, and s/he keeps on turning her/his head homeward bound, never, to see her/his own homeland in the distance, it’s really, such, an immense sort of loss to experience here.