May this marriage forget the gleam
of rosewood and teak; let it be planed,
joined dovetail, half-lap, tongue-in-groove.
May you give each other salt for salt.
Toss the orchids out with the roses.
Tuck the brandy back in the cupboard.
At the second wedding, the midges
will dance for you, the sweetgrass
will bear you up and the night animals
will rustle in chorus, just out of sight.
All things being equal, may the date
fall on the vernal equinox, the rites
tendered in the back-backyard,
where the soil is black with runoff
and the ash trees have already
been etched with your names.