Salve, Festa Dies! (Piers)

My wellloved Piers,
° Lamentations, Reproaches, Tenebraes factaes sunts.
° Angelus ad Virginem.

° I know you were torn between your professional duty to worship Death Most Holy, in company with the aging Mel Gibson and the entire Western Church, and your instinctive delight in worshiping la Guadalupe on the Festival of the Impregnation of the Mother of God.
° I know you accomplished both, if only by a DeiGenetricial leitmotiv inserted slyly into your voluntary.

§§§§§

° Life and Death.

° Life or Death.

° Birth and Death, Death and Rebirth.

° None of them parallel terms, none of them opposites, our language lies in confusion.

° In the same state, Giac.

P. S. I failed to dandle Panama upon my knees yesterday; for Heaven’s sake, make it up to her. This morning I found the Grim lying bellyup, dead as a doornail, in the stream, and this afternoon a blackbird in the same condition, under a box bush. Best not to tease Destiny . . . .