Home is not a place

I am gone away, in part, since your passing.
I have no beginning without your home,
and in your end, I am gone away.

When you would sing, I would listen and look
up into your eyes before I had the word
‘beauty’ to shine up at your face.

All my words came from your first
“I love you.” The foundation of my language
is your embrace.

I know the meaning of the word, not just
in the breakdown of sounds, but by your
relentless pursuit of my heart.

You were a force, and the wind has not died
since you’ve gone. The trees are permanently
bent from your crushing blows.

You dared me to love greatly; you lavished me
with praise. Everything I am is you and you are
everything to me. A home is not a building,

made of wood and nails. A home is not this place
or that place where we lived. A home is you,
my mother. You are my home.