The courts here said no to certain marriage, but maybe
love is always a matter of time and this isn't the season just yet.
I'm imagining a day when pronouns won't matter except for "we"
and "us," and the protest lines will disappear or better still, unite.
Until then, bibles trotted out, pronouncements made, sides defended,
and a flurry of reasons why matrimony shouldn’t be bestowed on those
who can commit to it in earnest. But when the dust settles, and this battle ended,
love will be an outstretched hand, a proffering of peace that has no foes.
And we will understand the state of this more perfect union:
Each new morning, a fact of freedom. All that sunlight tumbling in.