A Marriage
Not a dream. I remember:
you, whom I love most,
were reading beneath a tree,
and as I approached,
birds in twos and threes
arrived and filled the branches
until the tree was loud
with twittering, nervous birds
flitting from branch to branch.
I joined you there, opened
my book, and began to read.
We turned to each other.
Not a dream, that violent
thundering of wings, like
a single cry as they departed.
O my love there is more,
much more, still, to know
of love than how to continue.