Pilgrimage
By Niall Twohig
We walk to Revelle Plaza under July’s midday sun.
Moving slowly, silently, making the most of shadows.
To our right, Urey Hall,
where we pause—
The staircase empty, but the students stand fresh in our minds
pausing as we pause, shutting down this piece of the war machine.
We push into the brightness of the Plaza.
The heat is fitting, Nature giving us a fraction of what Winne felt,
what so many feel in man’s Godless seas of fire.
We sit under the coral tree
I play Joni’s song—
for a moment, we sit
with Winne, with long-haired flower-bearing students
their stardust close to ours, inseparable from ours
we flow into that constellation
I lower the volume—
not to silence—
but to a jet’s monstrous roar.