There!
He’s one of the first onstage!
Under those lights he probably can’t see us.
. . . sheepishly enduring the scattered applause
until the other choristers had filed on.
A gentleman.
A pose”he raised his arms
And they their expectations . . .
The conductor was merely the pulse of a larger hand
That gestured grandly toward a panorama.
a, e, i, o, u,
Vowels uncomplicated by later centuries . . .
“ . . . etiam pro nobis . . . “
“pro nobis”? . . . pro forma . . . pro bono . . .
They sang the bitter-sweet polyphony by heart.
Their adolescent voices plaintive, yet composed.
The darkened hall, the measured phrases . . .
The bright young faces, swaying gently
Above the robes of dark maroon . . .
They were like tiers of votive lamps
Whose glow suffused the vaulted heights.
who could command his son’s unflinching regard
and could withstand it?
For a moment he was again the Child,
intently placing wooden blocks,
while she watched, immobile, wondering,
“What shall the pattern be?”
“. . .in saecula saeculorum.”
—Michael J. Miller
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