the scent of home

'where is home?'
I asked myself,
as I walked along the river
of desire, of longing,
always looking
for the way home

as if I knew it already,
somewhere in the softness
and whiteness,
of these bones burning to ash,
offered to the river,
carrying it to source -

that heaven
where trickles meet
the yawning ocean and sky,
held by the shifting earth
containing the fire
of all that she loves,

that homecoming
where everything
and nothing
is source,
the eternal home
of all that is

in every line,
every meander,
every spark,
every breath,
every grain,
that speaks of home,

as I rest on these banks
of a gushing river,
with nothing to do,
but soak it all in,
nowhere to go,
but stay right here,

where there are
no more questions,
no maps or signposts,
only this one breath
holding the scent
of home.