There's another family poem called, "A Wedding Toast."
That's what it is.
It was written for the wedding of my eldest son, Christopher,
two summers back, summer of 1971, Bastille Day.
It starts out by referring to the account
of the wedding in Cana of Galilee as St. John gives it,
and, taking seriously, St. John's
amazing figures as to the quantity of wine
which Jesus provided in the waning hours of a party,
infinitely more than they could possibly need.
It has the wonderful preposterousness
of the miracles, generally.
"St. John tells how, at Cana's wedding feast,
the water-pots poured wine in such amount
that by his sober count there were
a hundred gallons at the least.
It made no earthly sense, unless to show
how whatsoever love elects to bless brims
to a sweet excess that can without depletion overflow.
Which is to say that what love sees
is true; that the world's fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound and pour its plenty out for such as you.
Now, if your loves will lend an ear to mine,
I toast you both, good son and dear new daughter.
May you not lack for water, and may that water smack
of Cana's wine. "
Actually, if you take all that business of how many firkins
of water were transformed into wine,
it's more than 100 gallons, I'd say,
but I couldn't get the full amount into the line.