A Marriage

We met

           under a shower

of bird-notes.

           Fifty years passed,

love's moment

           in a world in

servitude to time.

           She was young;

I kissed with my eyes

           closed and opened

them on her wrinkles.

           'Come,' said death,

choosing her as his

            partner for

the last dance, And she,

            who in life

had done everything

            with a bird's grace,

opened her bill now

            for the shedding

of one sigh no

            heavier than a feather.