ON BEING MARRIED

Arthur, Fabian, father,
brother, son of the sail

that sets the boat travelling
away from the beach,

disappears from our wedding
day in wood watered

down with reachable vows,
the nautical blue, the place

we blended in union, our bodies
always knowing this

heave of water, bend of wind.
And you set your oars

into the ocean, our matrimony
merger that canvas crushed

by the word’s whispering,
and the belly of beach

holds me to this watching, your
departure, waves, back

and forth, the shallow direction
of your brave outline

against the deep wet, your show
submerged in what overtakes you,

taking you, and taking you.
Leaving me behind, you never arrive.

And later, people observe
what they think, the shadow of you

in that store, in that café,
a gambler at the track, the head

of what’s missing,
suddenly found next to

the streetseller’s shadow,
your phantom spotted

in a row of lettuce, an orange
the length of what has disappeared,

the love in each of us
drowning in a watery grave.

~ by suemintude on August 15, 2008.