Aging bachelor goes into the
world, Amy-blessed,
bits of her roiled up
in his halo
low-level conjures at the
places she has touched,
valence electrons pushed
before him like ranch hands,
cleaning up the dogies
He wonders at the
nonchalance of the
greater world,
was expecting to be
arrested or made a god
Can you not see the
light shooting from my pores?
He did not actually have to
leave her but his ruts are
housepets and perhaps he
needs the distance to
see what kind of
painting his life has become
A cool blue stew to the
northwest, shimmering golds and
yellows, purple and
pink birthing magenta,
black for definition
A few free minutes to
drink Ethiopian coffee and
write another poem for he is
Amy-loved and can't
quite believe it
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