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.

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