St. Joseph

and the seed of the cottonwood fell like snow
the day you were married by the Lake,
as a young sparrow perched on the white gate
tilting his head at the reading of your vows
to hear and know what love is before flitting away
at the caw and cry of the eager mourning dove –
this reminder of a promise made from beginning
to whatever the end may bring:

and I trusted what I witnessed in the crisp evening air,
wondering if anyone else noticed the empty white chairs
vacated for the curiosity of what came next
while I stored my excitement for the sapling there to grow.