on the event of her wedding #1

[joel]

Much more than loves I’ve wanted, this I need:
these moments post meridian to be
perfection’s incarnation, icon of
a miracle of peace that condescends—
some pittance merciful and tranquil— from
catastrophe, disaster, ugliness.
I need (along with memories of waste
and, too, of wasted love) a meager taste
of open hopefulness and loveliness.
With glory, like a weed-waste flower come
to light through asphalt pitch whose column bends
its capital to cup the skies— With love,
like canyon scales of Flood regressed to Sea—
I marvel in my wounds and gladly bleed.