We gave to one another shining rings
of precious metals bearing radiant stones,
although we thought them trifling little things
for we were wed together in our bones
and in our skin, which trembled like two knives
held close against the heart of blackest night.
As one, our flesh forged steel fit to survive
the cuts and sparks made tumbling toward first light.
We formed this quickly-tempered bond by choice
just after nature's blood had made us bold,
yet for some time it's metal in your voice
that speaks of chains, and rust, and things grown old,
like rings and vows turned brittle and made frail,
and marriage cloaks that fit like suits of mail.
Tim Hawkins has lived and traveled widely throughout North America, Southeast Asia and Latin America, where he has worked as a journalist, technical writer, and teacher in international schools. He currently lives in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. His poems have appeared in a number of publications, most recently in BluePrintReview, The Fib Review, The Flea, The Literary Bohemian, Lucid Rhythms, and Underground Voices, and are forthcoming in 13 Miles from Cleveland, and The Midwest Quarterly.