On Maundy Thursday

I will wash my feet in the riffle of a creek

On Good Friday

I will lament the crucifixion with the dear earth

and venerate the weeping wood of too many crosses born by still living trees

On Holy Saturday

I will sit in vigil

at the tomb under a night sky

greyed by a shroud of sleepless electric lights

And on Easter Sunday

I will wander and worship

the resurrection body

in the cherry petals

that bloom and waft all over my garden city