Wandering

O poem a day, what shall I say?

What have I for you?

Dusting off my trusty depths.

All day I dreamt of Algeria.

For whom am I preparing myself?

What do my interests mean?

I suppose I cannot know. 

My beloved is out in the rainstorm to get chocolate for a cake. 

Will the angels call upon me?

Will one appear like a Dickens ghost to determine my direction?

I miss the surf. I miss surfing, and finding other surfers riding the same wave, waving and smiling.

My melancholy is beside nostalgia as if they are two friends huddled in line for a bathroom outside in the rain. 

I really do hope for something. But what? 

Happily laughing with another. Giggling as I did when I was young. 

Within those sounds are the best feeling parts of infinity. 

Even then I was scared. 

The black cat of sadness winding its way around my person forever. 

Soft and sweet and crying,

winding around two friends huddled together.