Blame From a Poet (from a fiction in progress)

He blamed me for good reason, to start. But then he began to blame me strangely. He blamed me when his pipes froze over in the winter. He blamed me when a pigeon shat on his shoulder. He blamed me when his poems were rejected by prestigious journals. He blamed me when his published poems contained typographical errors. He blamed me when the summer nights grew too hot, the grass turned yellow, the wells went dry. He blamed me when the seasons changed too abruptly and his investment in crops froze