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.