Hiraeth

i long for something 

i know not.

i never experienced it, 

so it’s not nostalgia. 

i don’t know what it looks like or feels like.

i have not touched it.

and i certainly don’t know what 

its voice sounds like.

but i know the weight of it. 

i know it would fit like 

when a word searched for all day

suddenly arrives,

not new, 

just found.

and i swear, 

when it finally stands before me, 

whatever it is, wherever it has been,

i will know its face 

before it speaks my name.