And my final poem, again, thank you for being here.
It's called "Vows for a Gay Wedding."
And again, I really enjoyed my class visit earlier.
And they have a question about this poem.
And someone pointed out--
I think he did--
pointed out that it was actually on page 69.
[LAUGHTER]
Wait, is it?
And I thought maybe he proceeded to ask the question.
And I thought, wait, so you're asking if it was intentional
that I have my vows on page 69?
But I did not.
But anyways, thank you guys for having me.
[LAUGHTER]
"Vows-- for a gay wedding."
What was unforeseen is now a bird orbiting this field.
What wasn't a possibility is present in our arms.
It shall be and it begins with you.
Our often-misunderstood kind of love deems dangerous.
How it frightens and confounds and enrages.
How strange, unfamiliar.
Our love carries all those in the contrary.
It is most incandescent.
So, I vow to be brave.
Clear a path through jungles of shame and doubt and fear.
I'm done with silence.
I proclaim.
It shall be and it sings from within.
Truly we are enraptured with Whitmanesque urge and urgency.
I vow to love in all seasons.
When you're summer, I'm watermelon balled up
in a sky-blue bowl.
When I'm autumn, you're foliage ablaze in New England.
When in winter, I am the tender scarf of warm mercies.
When in spring you are the burgeoning buds.
I vow to love you in all places.
High plains, prairies, hills and lowlands.
In our dream-laid bed, cradled in the nest of your neck.
Deep in the plum.
It shall be and it flows with you.
We'll leap over the waters and barbaric rooftops.
You embrace my resilient metropolis.
I adore your nourishing wilderness.
I vow to love you in primal ways.
I vow to love you in infinite forms.
In our separateness and composites.
To dust and stars and the ever after.
Intrepid travelers, lovers, and family--
we have arrived.
Look.
The bird has come home to roost.
[APPLAUSE]