lost in well-intention,
wedding bells mentioned
everyone expected to see
anna in white.

there were nights
the possibility felt alright,
my shaky, stained hand
loosely chained to anna's.

but
anna, i'm frightened.
but
anna, i'm young.
but
anna, my love may be mostly pretend.

the days move like parades of funerals,
words sound so important but dissolve incessantly
cold grow the hands, dim go the eyes.

there was a weekend of mercy,
when i believed strength of bind,
sorrow was distant, and your
novel face filled my mind.

but
anna, i'm frightened.
but
anna, i'm young.
but
anna, my love may be mostly pretend.