I scattered my wife
in an array of bedside ashtrays.

I wore my shoes out
trying to find a pure form of love.

When love found me,
it arrived late and carried a fee.

The ashes of my former life,
crawled, cradled and spliced.

Until the wife I burned through,
became bright, became beacon.

It didn't hit me until the third month
of "freedom".

I laughed while laying beside Miranda's
milky twin.

As the copy sputtered with barnacle conversation,
I walked free. I walked home.

I felt washed clean in a gleaming sea
of finding the past me.