On the march down the aisle, the bride’s heart
flutters. Particles she can name chase each other
like sex or ambition. Perceptions slow, flatten
like ears against the head.

#1) You can’t get something for nothing.

Above the church parking lot, slingshot gravity
polices a queue of stars and a light beam splits
in a sideways bid for freedom. The groom
eggs it on.

#2) Even with a little luck, you’ll never break even.

The quiet turns hollow. Bride prowls the house
in a runaway mood. The refrigerator door stands
on hairy legs, groom’s ducked head swimming
in vapor.

They’ll run uphill a world running down, satellite
each other under stars blinking away blowhard air
that obscures the steadfastness of things.

What they give to each other they give to the world.
They don’t have to know that it rains diamonds
on Neptune, or that shepherd moons will always herd
the rocks of Saturn’s rings around the low blue hum
of heaven.

Copyright © 2005, Cheryl Snell

Image Credit: 10thAvenue, some rights reserved

Cheryl Snell, the author of two chapbooks of poetry, Flower Half Blown (Finishing Line Press, 2002) and Epithalamion (Little Poem Press, 2004), is a two time Pushcart Prize nominee. Her novel Shiva's Arms is forthcoming from Writer's Lair Books.