Witness

The chairs all faced the altar except mine.

I'd angled it a few degrees off, no more,

and noticed, and decided it was fine—

I wasn't sure what I had shown up for.

I witness this, he said. Then said it twice.

I was counting backward: month, then year,

a date I wrote on things without a price

for forgetting. Now I couldn't get it clear.

The programs on the seat beside me curled

in the afternoon heat. Untouched, unread.

Someone cried. The couple faced the world

together, briefly. I faced ahead.

I clapped. I ate the thing they'd made.

Drove home with all four windows down.

The math refused. I let the date

dissolve. Now it's just a sound.