love and nothing else

i love
but is there nothing more?
have i traversed these lyrical wilds,
roaming the jungle, thirsty in the desert,
adrift at sea, only to arrive
back at myself with worn shoes
and spent change, a bent
spine and tattered umbrella?

the bells of my journey have chimed,
have been rung by winds,
wrung out to dry after so many sadnesses
and salty storms, ringed with age
after so much triumph and passionate folly.

i return to myself, again and again,
wave and tide, smoothing each grain
of sand, grinding the stones of my shore
into perpetual sand, seeking
only this reunion with those forfeited
parts of myself.

i believe i have lived all this before, as if
i never left home, just dreaming of the world
outside my door, painting my imagination
with wild fantasies of amorous tendencies,
only to wander absent-mindedly
within my own halls, waking to myself
each time, finding my own personal
dream come true, so true and so real.
so me.

i love
and there is nothing more
until the sun rises and a captivating bird
sings to me, or a lone leaf flutters its way
at my feet, and i dream all of this,
dreaming.