Porcupine

Where the porcupine is I don't know but I hope

it's high up on some pine bough in some thick tree, maybe

on the other side of the swamp. The dogs have come running back, one of them

with a single quill in his moist nose. He's laughing, now knowing what he has

almost done to himself. For years I have wanted to see that slow rambler,

that thornbush. I think, what love does to us is a Gordian knot, it's that

complicated.

I hug the dogs and their good luck, and put on their leashes. So dazzling she must be-

a plump dark lady wearing a gown of nails-white teeth tearing skin from the thick tree.

In myth, the Gordian knot could not be untied.  Only when Alexander the Great came along did the knot unfurl, and this was only by a bold stroke of his sword to cut the knot, revealing two ends that then could unravel the unsolvable. 

What I want to know is whether the sword slashing is the way to go. I mean, can love be solved by a violent thrust?  How courageous is it to cut rope, or the bindings of the heart with an impulsive act?  If we did, we might just end up with a nose full of quills, a gift from our prickly encounters.  Now that would be something to laugh at!

So today, may I go towards love and the uncomfortable, and laugh at the target I have become. 

Where do you expect discomfort and prickly relationships?  What is your response to this?