For Nada and Gary

Epithalamion: how to say it?
Belted beside a player piano?
Or quired behind a file of hired sea nymphs?
Where to stand? Hip-deep in the loving cup
where two lovers' lips make the leaps?
Pleding Troth, Truth's downstairs neighbor
whose broken English belies sad eyes?
Lovers of this little world, unite! You have much to gain by chain.
Queen of clank, King of clink, kiss and make up
a republic in which we all someday can live.
Give yourselves away, be brides,
be merry and multiply, square roots
of our song. How to sing it? Alone
with us, in this company, swear nothing, love long.