A nuptial song...

Epithalamium 
by Matthew Rohrer
In the middle garden is the secret wedding,
under a tree one hand reaches through the grainy dusk toward another.
Two right hands.
There is no one else for miles,
and even those people far away are deaf and blind.
There is no one to bless this.
There are the dark trees, and just beyond the trees.
Coffee today ordinary, poorly brewed, and office natural.