Bride
She looks at him, her hand
in the in the nook of his elbow.
Who is he, this groomed
Stranger, once her friend?
Sweet peas and gypsophilia tremble
in her small ringed, hand.
Identified by rings,
all her migrations noted.
She smiles at him,
And waits for empty
beaches where sun lights
laughter and love
and pulls about them
wells, caves, hollows
and doorways of their marriage.
© Margaret Morgan 2004
Bridegroom
He looks at the world
hands by his side,
hers through the crook of his arm.
The door of home is behind him.
Doors, or, perhaps, no doors,
will open. Doors
into gardens of bliss
or from the circle of companions
perhaps, as it turns out.
He leans a little towards her
but smiles out at us,
not yet the intimacy
of eyes meeting and holding
before our harnessed smiles
as we wave from our inner doors.
© Margaret Morgan 2004
The closing bars of Bride and Bridegroom have a pentatonic clarity to them. The song is in fact two songs happening simultaneously that only come together in the final moments.