Thursday, November 8, 2012

Buying the farm

Spring spreads green
With quiet qualms
Quilting the cold crusted winter
You come
Waiting the ceremonious hours
Before the ceremony
Bursting with the bubbling
Burning boils of love
Time ticks on too tenderly
moodily and wrong
Painfully aware of you
Telling you in your settled world:
“This is the moment.”

Out your window the gulls return
The geese squander their inheritance
In the church yard
Wasted the wet winter thaw
Somehow the house ahead
Seem haunting
The ghost of marriage
A little strange
The indomitable isolation
Of independence
With a ring and a chant

How many rings does Saturn have?
Or Jove?
Jolly and round
Violating his own rude rules
The ring rolls around your finger
The vow, in your head,
The quiet question
The preacher proposes
Whispers in the room
“What was that?”
You want to ask,
But don’t,
Caught in the aura of austerity,
This IS the moment.

You are one,
Holy in a whole world’s whispers
The music starts,
And stops,
And starts again
You turn,
Two to one
Standing at the alter
Standing with your hands
Bound piously
People pouring rice
Over you
Like water

Man and woman
Husband and wife
Terms that worm through life
And settle you
In these spots forever
For eternity,
Soul’s sacrifice of self for you
You love.
You and love
You and the eternity of love
To hover
Over like a glorious spirit
This is the moment.

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