One summer day, the speaker is granted a moment so complete it seems meant only for her—as sacred as a saint’s resurrection. The sun and flowers go about their business, as if no soul had passed through a solstice that makes everything new. She and her beloved share a wordless communion, each a sealed church, avoiding the clumsiness of speech, like participants at the Lord’s Supper.
Time hurtles past, clutched by greedy hands, and they look back like faces on two decks bound for opposite shores. When the day leaks away without a sound, they give no ordinary pledge but bind each other’s crucifix—a promise to rise from the grave into a marriage justified through the calvaries of love. The mood is ecstatic and solemn: a private, sacred union already shadowed by inevitable separation.