Postscript

… I mentioned in last night’s homily that the fate and faith of the Dorchester chaplains brought to my mind the musicians of the Titanic, and their own cords of friendship.

Grave

A hair’s breadth from panic,

taut, trembling disguised as vibrato,

bravado; the young men drawn

together as with one accord, buoyed

by the rising air, and the falling:

morendo.

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