Requiem Mass
Jennifer Guyor-Jowett
In this cathedral of our world,
we honor the dead.
The relentless waves have stilled,
a retreat on bended knee,
a threnody.
We no longer need their crashing beat.
The winds come to final rest,
harboring inside organ pipes
a lament.
We hear no more their measured breath.
The earth’s hum has paused,
its ancient choir silenced,
an elegy.
Its voice sounds no more for us.
The fires doused and extinguished,
a dissipation of the dying,
a funereal hymn.
We heap all on its pyre.
Our voices chant.
Dies Irie
Echoes of the haunting.
Dies Irie
Our voices expand.
Dies Irie
Our own dirge.
