*


Though the flash has left his hair
combed back with hers held down
by iron straps and waiting --the dead

are never ready for a wedding
go house to house, ask for enough
in case you've seen these two

alive somewhere, rubbing their eyes
as if the photographer might set off
another miracle and nothing change

the way every grave goes door to door
as rain --would jam each drop open
alongside all these flowers, smelling

from bare wire, fresh dirt, storms
counting the ones that already
reached the ground and not moving.