Pudgy Indian

I search the stars overhead,
see the big dipper
in a break in the clouds.
I search the skies for more stars
and clouds.

Crossing the Bridge this morning,
I saw something strange
floating down the river.
It is dark,
the lights are playing with
the thing
I can't make it out.
Is it a giant log?
I stop, wait, and watch.

It is a raft of tree ditritus.
Naturally formed, as it were,
and floating swiftly down the river.
The Willamette is strong
and travelling quickly this morning.
I get to the East Side walkway,
as it were,
and watch a big hunk
of the ditritus raft
that has been there since at least this weekend
break off
and float quickly down the river.

I have felt
such a desire to Love and be Loved
this last couple of months
since that ceremony.
The energy is
heading for a nap,
which is nice.

I sit amongst the ruins
of what used to be
the doorway to my Love.
I come here a lot
when I am alone
and ponder the effects
of abuse
in my life.
My desire for Love
to be reawakened who knows when
is taking a nap.
I'm giving myself a much needed rest from it.

They say
that when like this
it is usually when Love comes into your life.
I don't know, though.
I've never had Love In my life
other than friends.
Lover-Love has not come to me
in those times
when my desire for Love has laid dormant.
So this is nothing unusual for me.
It is a clear and consistent pattern.
So I am enjoying that letting go
and don't honestly expect Lover-Love
to show
during it's nap,
either.

So I sit amongst the rubble
of my blown apart doorway
that I used to keep me separated from you.
I look at all the beautiful nature
that surrounds the ruins
of this barrier I had kept
so strong and well maintained before.

I smoke an imaginary bowl.
I light up and imaginary Cohiba.
I rest
and laugh
and hear echoes in the silence
of the ruins being reclaimed
by nature.

I recall looking through the doorway
seeing the empty pathway to my door
seeing the empty streets outside.
And here I am again,
alone...
laughing...
and smoking those things I enjoy most.

OK...
A Wild Huckleberry Truffle from Moonstruck...
mmmmmm!
Life is good!

And when that desire comes back,
I know I'll be writing
some of my best poetry and short stories.
Writing is so much more fun
during those times
of the beautiful ache
for Lover-Love.