Going Home

Not one thing or the other.
Streams converge, swimming
multi-layered waters.
There is the rainbow.
The rain
clouds and airwaves
converging into sea.
I feel my whole body running, running.
I have no destination, so
I run until
breath fails me.
Heart pounds a symphony,
speaks tongues and rhythms
overplayed through decades.
Epiphany evades; it teases.
Having no one left to please, I
walk slow
step by mesmerizing step.
One day the clouds open.
Cleansing rain overwhelms.
I see the rainbow,
arc over the world,
shine in my secret language.
I have found my way home.
Not one place or another.
Streaming convergence of
layers upon memories
sail free.



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