Aeneas, more than any, secretly

Mourned for them all.

—Vergil, Aeneid

Why do you haunt us, pious Aeneas,

Archaic hero, my brother?

You who transgressed hell’s hard orders

All to hear your father’s wishes.

Tell me how to, so beleaguered,

Shoulder well what can be salvaged

Of our patrimony’s body,

Even though it’s been beheaded

Like the Baptist Herod hated,

Even though Achilles’ son —

Master mocker, caustic Pyrrhus —

Has trespassed our inner sanctum

Poised to halt the sacrifices.

Hard to pray these Pater Nosters

When our Fathers lock the churches,

Saving Pilate litigation.

Please Aeneas, will you teach us

When to flee and when to build,

How to hate all war but make it

When the holy laws are breaking?

How to rally wearied exiles

While revering dead companions,

How to mourn manlike in secret.