Chant at Aquidneck: Pars Verna

John Fandel

JOHN FANDEL

CHANT AT AQUIDNECK: PARS VERNA

Sometimes, at Matins, jets rip up the sky
like gauze. Our Lord's men do not blink an eye;
steady as neums. Birds, May-August long,
wake at windows to church Latin; song
is their specialty. Lauds charm the sun
into the sky. In local Zion,
Domni, wise as Matins, rise on key:
three Nocturnes shine into their memory.
New light wakes at their eyes. The dawning air
has its own antiphon: This day is fair.
All feasts of light are doubled, so: This day
is fair, the birds repeat, and fly away.
They fly away until the bell past Noon
means Nones-by earlier count, a little soon.
Then Choir is Chantry of tall silence, still
as crickets on the vigil of their skill.
Vespers. Nightfall. Compline. Stars: if clear.
The day is over as the day is near.