While wandering in Powell's last weekend, I found this poem. Dig it:

"On the Evening of a Wedding"
Graham Foust

One day love
is mere
manipulation.

Someone needs something.
You sing them
your song.

On another day love
is purely
a possession.

You want something
Someone paints
your picture.

You rock back and forth
between these days,
until a third day,
that day which
the world puts its mouth to yours.

The world's mouth is a church.

Your mouth, of course,
is a pictureless room
in which an afternoon's gods
get lost.