Chant at Aquidneck: Pars Verna

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.