Homecoming

I can hear myself coming back. I'm just not so sure where I went. It seems there is no time and place, no dwelling space for the in between. The transitions. Me, while I was away. Somewhere, but not here, where I began. I feel me from the beginning. This time. For the first time. Those buoyant memories eagerly indulge and divide, making sense of the last five years. I close my eyes as if to make it fold and mend, like the way my strong, sturdy, fastidious arms prepare for soup, for winter, for rhythm. The water drags and drifts, contained within its wavering predictability. Irrational stability. A ceramic home within my home, beneath my bones. It feels both delicate and dramatic in one slow sink. Submerged. Sinking into the gravity of yesterday, and the audacity of tomorrow, unable to absorb right here, right now. Until now. It must have just happened. The alignment of everything inside me, beside me.