home

I craved the path
  of home
and you
showed me
 the path under
shadows of ourselves
and I wandered
 the path and was
lost to 'selves'
only gathering shadows of
deeper truth that cannot
be held by palms
 turning them over knuckles
knot like those in trunks
 of trees pooling in
bark surges yet they
 are such a long way from
those inner rings
   telling of times gone by
but if you can go back
  ring by ring by
root by root by
  sprig and before seed
there the trace remains
of the inner-ness that came
  somewhere when the sun
 and rain and fertile soil
began a process of fermenting
inner-ness and outer-ness
 although I don't
really know which is which
there are always rings within
 the rings we think we know;
    if we didn't know
  but just went back
and back then there
   are traces
 of where we are going
and have always been
  and home can be touched
 in the untouchable way
of it and of course
 there is craving