Struggling from their warm beds,
rolling out beneath the stars
machine-gunned into the night sky,
dreams still wet inside their heads.
(Owls turning)
The moon, like a smiling scimitar
winks at them through the clouds
above the black trees, where a thrush
sings to the hum of a slow guitar.
(Neck bending, long notes)
Pipe-smoke, drifting long and white
through a desperate dribble of rain,
and shivering in their thick coats
they watch the marriage of the night.
(Clock ticking, hands slow like the dawn)
The white bride of the morning
steps across the flowers,
lifting her dress over the horizon;
the sun stretches, half yawning.
(Eyes burning with pride)
And as the fire-smoke slowly eeled
over the wet, yellow rooftops,
ashes of snow dripped on shoulders;
white confetti across the fields.
(Flakes falling)
They waited long into the noon;
bells suffocating the cold air
as the skies made light of their love
in a fresh, bright honeymoon.
Stug Jordan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/marriage-21/
