Wandering

You only come in your grief and wanderings
But you never seek what is within.
Your eyes are searching
beyond the walls and the fields,
past the forests and the mountains and the rivers.
And everything I can tell you
falls short of your ears.
And everything I can give you
lies untouched at your feet.
So "Leave," I say.
"There is nothing here for you."
And so you go
having touched nothing in your stay.
Yet my house is empty
and I can only sit
and wait for your return.