Going Home

Going Home

Not one thing or the other
Streams converge, swimming
multi-layered waters.
There is the rainbow
The rain
clouds and airwaves
converge into the sea.
I feel running, running.
No destination, so
I run until
breath fails me
heart pounding a symphony
speaking tongues and rhythms
overplayed through ages.
Truth evades; it teases.
Having no one left to please, I
walk slowly
step by mesmerizing step.
One day the clouds open
cleansing rain overwhelms.
I see the rainbow,
arching over the world,
speaking my secret language.
I have found my way home.
Not one place or another.
Streaming convergence of
layers upon memories
breathe free.