An arriving poem
comes like a swell
of tide.
Horizon no longer
joins sky and sea
but bleeds
to mist between.
Lovers on the beach
or secret in the woods above
touch fingers as if
to set their love in stone.
It is what we do:
humans on the skyline
humans in the green hollow
humans in the heartbeat moment
when time on two tracks
runs in our veins,
our mutual veins.
Words cement us
one upon the other
narrative like strands
connecting, telling, repeating
what we make of each other
in each other’s sight.
Gathering evening
on the shoreside;
the rush of waves
on the beach;
dusk like dead light
on sluggish water.
© BH, 2012
A wedding poem. I’ve put it here to share the kind of thing wedding poems might be. I’d seen a critique that suggested they’d either be too fruity or carnal or else too cheesy. Hopefully this is neither, more a reflection on the human condition apposite to the nuptial event.
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