Wedding on a Cliff
Issam Zineh

I am married on a cliff. Today, we are
all we want. The future rests on buzz
words, easily broken like an ankle in the sand.
The beauty of it in the mind is something of poetry’s
patter, of insanity on the lanai, home / portico / past.
The day is black and formal. The images are
a different matter. The air is salted, the sky like
blueberry yogurt. Later, you would tell me you

hated blueberry yogurt. What you did like
was skylines and nightlife and violence.
The guests have arrived. We walk down one
path at once, hating, for now, everything that blooms,
knowing this is a small part of the introduction,
an even smaller part of conclusion.

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