Cool candy-colored panes
filter feeble Sun
day light.
Dim glimmering altar dressings
under candles, flicker-lit,
who
whisper of times darker
in
caves seeped with the smell
of burial rags;
death's incense.
Voices in prayer, trembling
with
fear of God
and
man.
But a child does not know this,
of relics and requiems;
stirrings of the past.
He lacks their understanding.
The vestments are bright,
their
bearers, cheerful.
Voices in pleasant song
know not fear
nor ecstasy.
Still such silhouette whispers
as
may be found in candle-light
caress the boy's ears
with
gentle intensity.
The priest's own drone
fades behind flame murmurings
"
This is my body..."
which was given up for
them.