Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Rachel Hadas read this poem. You can also download the recording or subscribe to Slate's Poetry Podcast on iTunes.

If rings exchanged do signify a wedding,
or a couple standing face to face
making a promise, then it was a wedding
I dreamed, all draped with garlands of green meaning.
August meanwhile was reeking with black smoke.
Day's broadcast or night's scenario:
which message was—was either message—true?
Confusedly through sleep I recognized
my bridal pair. But at the same time, something
pressed against the haven of the night.
Sheet lightning? The air trembled
as if, hooves thundering, a nightmare galloped
past the house along the empty road.
Summer was waning. I was getting old.
The vision of the wedding fell away
and launched me, weary, into a red morning.
The world was warring, drowning, catching fire.