Your eyes speaking your vows, white linen
unwinding ahead of us, shining,
parquet laid on a lawn under old poplars,
fragile white lilies and fat waxen tapers,
a toast from my father furloughed from cancer,
a white-plumed pen and a gilt-edged guest book,
your rented tails, my off-the-rack dress
strewn with fake seed pearls, the tumult of joy
in my morning mirror. Cousins romancing
maiden aunts—dancing, people who never danced—
happiness taut in yellow-and-white stripes
against blue-sky, and spring still half on the spool.
The runner ahead, unwinding its shining,
and behind us, the shining unwound.