Palm Sunday

today, we walk around outside
    leaves in our hands
    as the wind blows our
        vestments (what are those?)
    and our hair

today we celebrate
        (celebrate?)
    the impending death of G-d,
today, we do what doesn't make sense
    and what we do isn't quite right

from the beginning,
    everything we do
        singing together
        feasting on bread and wine
        capital punishment on our walls
            and around our necks
    everything we do
        doesn't make sense

in this way
        we mark what is central
    we make sense of a world turned inside-out