Memories are shuttered —
In the out of doors closing,
For five eternal years we were,
Once married beside a church,
Beside a tomb.

And our hearts were simple, freed
Among the moss of grey stones,
Pebble beach and wayfare wishes
And wild doves seemed always
To be hovering.

And our only bed, growing ever
Cold as a cup of leftover wine —
We drank in sacramental prayers
Never uttered, never declared,
After all that was.

As it was after all, only —
A mere, makeshift dream.