Whether or not a priest or celebrant's involved,
the couple that truly weds still marries itself;
everyone else is there for fashion, the forms-of-words,
consumption of cake and far too much champagne.
So when he and she were married in The Pilbara,
they sat themselves in the best they had near water.
She threw a stone. 'Until it floats, I'm true to you.'
He showed her the wedding ring he'd made himself.
'I'll love you till Port Hedland tides no longer race
across the harbour flats to stranded ships;
till Mulga, Paper-Bark and River Red Gum lose
their Pallid Cuckoos, Doves and Diamond Finches;
until those winds that daily roar across The Bight
cease their search for windmills in Esperance.'
'Those things described', she said, 'conceivably could happen.'
He looked her in the eye and touched her cheek.
'I'll love you till it rains in Marble Bar', he said.
She smiled and kissed him, this time as his wife.