Winds of Spring creeping into open doors

that shrivel dandelions and tulips

and daffodils into collapsed balloons

on green jail bars ring against each other

 in the groomsman’s hurried breeze.  He runs off

into the sunset through the neighborhood

of simple living and suburb golf carts.

The boy’s tie is a broken propeller

flipping and flying—noosed for the gallows—

running through gardens from rings that aren’t his.

The bride and groom are left, bewilderment

striking their glory days in estrangement.