And yet what a mountain of trust
Hovers about them.
A little hole,
With slopes of stern earth
As a ring, a stem
Of a ring of love,
(And what an infallible tomb it is,
Made from the heart of stone)
And that sweet, sweet faith.
The red lips –
Dampened yet soft
With salted tears;
They shape the words:
Every letter, every syllable,
Every sounds pronounced into the air
And with those words,
A little band ties her finger down
And her free flowing hair
Is made heavy by her wedding veil
As the tiger, free in the wild
Steps into the shoes of a domestic cat
And she leaves her forest behind,
Leaves singing symphonies
Of sadness, loneliness and doubt…
But the red string of fate is strong.
She's sure she's said the right words,
As they stand together
With the sun on their backs,
Illuminating the path in front
And the road behind,
And she stretches her clipped wings
And says it again: 'I accept.'