Upon heaped-up gardens
Dressed of you in finest embroidery,
Comes the first step
Into the dance between two star-lights,
Up to the altar for your arrangement,
For no second man shall claim you,
Even upon the day
When your heart stops.
A ticket to your reclamation,
While beauty is braided
In every tress raining from your head,
In the fog of this newness of Spring.
No other woman
Shall own this name.
Of a signature written into your flesh
That hugs around my fingers
As folds of the pages, to write of our life.