Water Weddings by Stephen Nelson

The river’s rich with the memory of weddings;
gold, pearls and pine cones studding the bank
where we lay in the mud, loving the winter
and the dreamtime vision of space from above.

Orchestral spirits chime in souvenir palaces;
we merge in a prophesy of heavy mist,
remembering the arms of the silent
……………………………………………river.

The spirits sail above the ale houses,
feeding on fumes and toxic marriages;
we escape in a digital mind trail, shedding
history through cities of milking and blood.

It seems love began when the earth was empty;
a stream of light from the stars igniting proteins,
weaving a sea as thick as the night.
Yet we spin through fleshy fear, lurching

like lambs in abattoirs, breaking hearts, building lives
with civility and subliminal invitations.
No one can tell us how to nurture the afterlife anymore;
our union is a palace of ceremonial delights.

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