Dies Irae

Dies Irae echoes in my headphones,

Drowning out the sound

Of your philosophical discourse

Three tables down.

You argue determinism

To a wry-smiled friend

And I have chill-bumps

On a hot summer day,

I close my eyes and sway

To the slow drone

Of dies irae, dies illa,

Solvet saeclum in favilla . . .

Chant sequence, ancient as

These unanswered questions.

Salva, salva, salva me.

--Alicia (2011)