A cavern of hot breath
a sea of candles    a crop of bowed heads
the priest swings his thurible    smoke clouds the air
he speaks in song   kyrie eleison
exhales a reckoning    when the rich man died    there were no angels to carry him
inhales a liturgy you dozed to
Εὐλογητὸς ὁ Θεὸς πάντοτε   νῦν καὶ ἀεὶ καὶ εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων
you made me recite when you believed I would stray

The gilt-edged book opens with the priest exhalting
a young man’s protest
Christ entered the temple ravaged by greed   he flung
their coins to the ground     merchants screamed as their caged doves escaped
so carpentry was no longer the vocation
I go to Mario Savio      Martin Luther King     Greta Thunberg
their speeches   fire     food    salves      for the masses
lower my head    cross my chest thrice     I am believable

My questions are covered in the black worn by eldest daughters
you’ve been dead for twelve months
though your voice has gone viral in the way I light my candle     daily
I visit you enough     wash the dirt from your photograph    etched to granite
a gold leaf engraving   scripted   may you rest in the arms of ___     a word
your birthright stole    yet you believed in    sleep    zivania   card games
those gave you peace   well   they tried to
another photo of you    I stored in your grave’s cabinet
it proves you were fifteen alone       except for the big man
behind you    Mister Kassimatis    your boss who made you cry
when you couldn’t speak proper English to the diners

The priest recites the names of the dead
names of a mother or father to the old and young children
I listen intently to hear your name      thrice     the name
of my childhood    patros   scolding me for a satisfactory grade
my adulthood    yios   holding your trembling liver spotted hand
my elderhood    pneva   inhaling the sea air you carried from Cyprus
the psaltee swells into final chorus   αιωνία η μνήμη     η μνήμη
I hear     Kostantinos
I want to believe      Kostantinos
Kostantinos    you are with your dead brother
playing backgammon