They say you can never go home again

but don’t we?
don’t we all go back,
bit by bit,
to where we came from,
into that vortexbetween the scylla of hope
too far for poor memory to recall
that moment
younger than time
taking place without location

and the charybdis of regret
the total recall of a space
deeper within
the ephemera of a womb
than neutrons in an atom

as if an iota of hourglass sand escaped
and sunk for aeons, suspended
like a thought
beyond the depth of submarine abyss
to hit the rock
of that which is without form

right where it enters the cell
a permeable mystery
with the assurance of an eternal return
and all the sweaty joy of a meat-clock
beginning to wind
from the remembrance of creation
encoded within the mechanism
of body upon body
and all the pleasure of sex

we all go back
and we keep going back
because we never left home

you’re it, love
in the end
that’s all there is