Yearning Man

Writing On The Dock Of The Bay

What I needed was a pilgrimage to India, the Camino or maybe Burning Man.

What I did was borrow a houseboat 40 miles south and journey to now.

This morning I sit on the channel, tapping words, sipping coffee,

watching the tide flow out. My wife sleeps upstairs.

The cats are on the deck. They sniff salt air.  

A gull floats by.  Pierre saunters in and

sits on my lap. Begins to purr.

I type one handed now,

one finger. It's 

all I need.