When I wear white,
there will be no church or chapel.
Just the sanctuary we created—
a simple plot of fertile ground
where a sacred love could grow.
At the end of the aisle, we’ll plant our feet.
Hearts beating like two hummingbirds,
captured in cages of bone.
There we’ll test the limits of human joy—
pledging words that no one else has said.
Because we wrote them.
As we invite others in to join
the unending celebration
that began when we first met,
my heart will be as full as the moon overhead.
Standing beneath oaks that have lasted for centuries
and hoping—always hoping—
for a love that lasts just as long.