A Morning Ceremony

Morning and her attendants blush before me,
the unwitting groom has seen the bride
in her sunrise glory and earthen tones.

Alas, I whisper intentions to a fickle wind
who howls with approval
and is at once gone,
surely spreading the rumor
with legs.

Yet I witness night's ire,
dancing curtains of trained electrons,
for the darkness is hypnotic
to the great and infinitesimal
without prejudice.

The pitch is thick with failed loves
and hums of a familiar chorus.
I settle and speak to the sky
in respectful repose,
but there is no reply,
only the approving wink
of someone's sun.

For now, let her scold,
rebuff, and deny.
She will be there tomorrow
and I will bring my best
to the gala
and we shall dance
as newlyweds
with a noon deadline
and the world to conquer.