A Wedding Portrait

A Wedding Portrait
Julia Copus
(Star Castle, Isles of Scilly)
 
We are looking straight into sunlight, both of us squinting,
on the steps of the bellcote, proud, a little wary,
safeguarding our shining vault of sky,
beneath the great stone bell, the archway mottled with lichen.
Time is sleeping here – in the banks of shade,
those clusters of daisies lighting the shadowy grass.
Birdsong, sunlight, sky, the vast Atlantic…
It was a day when the wind set everything in motion,
lifting my hair, the lip of your gold silk tie.
In photo after photo, the implacable wind.
The oxeyes bobbed and swayed in exultation
of buff-tailed bumblebees floating from bloom to bloom.
We were flushed, ecstatic, lulled by the sedative hum
of our loved ones’ chatter and laughter.
In our ears, a distant searoar, the rhythmic, adagio swell.
Ritual had steadied us; we were fresh from the service,
loosening gradually into air and light.
Trust, back then, was a slow, unfurling thing, a fiddlehead bud.
We hardly knew the courage that was in us
when we made our vows in the hush of the castle walls.
The words had yet to find the shape of their meaning,
my love – In strength and in weakness
and For all the rest of our days.
Then the camera followed us out, and here I am, still
carefree and at ease on the sunlit ramparts.
That fleeting pause before we joined the others –
do you remember? How we held back for a moment
and linked hands and said nothing –
the cooling stone of the passage as we stood there;
this is what stays with me best, though it isn’t recorded,
the silence and the subtle knot of our fingers.
 

The silence and the subtle knot of our fingers,
this is what stays with me best, though it isn’t recorded;
the cooling stone of the passage as we stood there
and linked hands and said nothing –
do you remember? How we held back for a moment,
that fleeting pause before we joined the others
carefree and at ease on the sunlit ramparts.
Then the camera followed us out… And here I am still
and for all the rest of our days,
my love, in strength and in weakness.
The words had yet to find the shape of their meaning
when we made our vows in the hush of the castle walls.
We hardly knew the courage that was in us.
Trust, back then, was a slow, unfurling thing, a fiddlehead bud
loosening gradually into air and light.
Ritual had steadied us; we were fresh from the service.
In our ears, a distant searoar, the rhythmic, adagio swell
of our loved ones’ chatter and laughter.
We were flushed, ecstatic, lulled by the sedative hum
of buff-tailed bumblebees floating from bloom to bloom.
The oxeyes bobbed and swayed in exultation.
In photo after photo, the implacable wind
lifting my hair, the lip of your gold silk tie.
It was a day when the wind set everything in motion –
birdsong, sunlight, sky, the vast Atlantic,
those clusters of daisies lighting the shadowy grass.
Time is sleeping here – in the banks of shade,
beneath the great stone bell, the archway mottled with lichen
safeguarding our shining vault of sky.
On the steps of the bellcote, proud, a little wary,
we are looking straight into sunlight, both of us squinting.