They must vanish of course
who must go early to the arms
of grooms. They must
take weight, who were momentarily
crepuscular even, shining —
Through a meadow, a window, a promise.
When the sun sets over the empty beach
the brides follow each other,
one by one, into the slow drift of the ocean. They slide
out of their gowns, escape
questions. They go down. So when the wind picks up,
it billows the loose fabric, billows
their perfect veils.
And the surface? The surface is sweet,
it remembers them, it slowly closes
over their delicate motions.