The sovereign gadge sports orangey brown
which serves his ginger, lukewarm stance
and languid poise, his numbered months.
The sun beyond us shifty in exceptional blue,
the weather holds. We hold this pose, just so,
as a rumpussing kitten holds tight to a moth.
My skewy, somewhat thumbs-up suggests
the gatefold inner sleeve of a farewell album,
its rowdy anthems slowed to heaven speed.