Mom rang me up to talk numbers and napkins
and we are heading down to help this weekend again -
hang the lights and build a step and practice our waltzing one last time.
It's two weeks away, and I can't chase the thought that it's only one night.
Time knows one speed, our wedding or not, and though I wish there were some trick
to make time slow her tick, I know it will pass, just as quick as it ought.
And there is so much we'll say to all who attend
and there is so much we won't when the music begins.
Our eyes will buckdance, our hands will make bridges
and years will be pondered as we exchange glances.
The warmth of our breaths will build a church on that hill.
The people in rows, the sky holding back, the sun growing bigger,
Our bodies adorned with flowers and lace and years of learning
to love that one face. We'll do it. We'll wed.
But it's not about vows. It's hardly our night.
It's there for the feet that find that old barn -- the mouths that will eat
and the bodies that rest, after miles, and dancing, in our home, our beds.
For you there is ample. We've picked and dried grass
and put it in bottles and filled up your glass. There's a seat
at our table, a plate with your name. So eat! So dance! It's on us, at last.
I can't chase the thought. It's only one night.
Time cannot linger the day that we're wed.
It's a party, a feast, a dance, and a fire. And after it passes
a memory is all. The sun will rise and we'll rub our eyes.
And make our way home, humming, alive.