For stopping her
at the Kroger 
to tell her that her 
hair is beautiful. 

Now that we are engaged 
I feel, I fear, that my own
compliments are more or less 
like this row of unwashed cars,
the silty puddle, the marooneed 
shopping carts that is, they are 
predictable, unimaginative 
routine, compact, for lack
of a better word befitting
the occasion of her. The jubilee
of herin a rainsoaked
grocery store parking lot.

For her hair is like unto
rays of sunshine streaming
through the muck clustered
clouds, which someone
once said, and I believed, is
indeed the voice of god.