"Rituals of Jerusalem"

(Written in 2021 and eternally relevant.)

“Rituals of Jerusalem”

Quietly,
The gentle drag of a robe's hem
On a dusty path,
The rider is solemn in his upturned face.

His fabric-laid beast plods along
With its muzzle to the stones.
The rider is stony along his
Road into the city.

Then—
A cry! A joyful
Cry so anguished that it must
Know the end,

A crying joy billowing over the path
Like a quaking hosanna.
A smile from the rider,

The stony man too dirty to be king.

The man smiles over his
Mothers and sisters and brothers and
Their palms splayed in the sun,

Teeth—
Covered then, covered sadly
Because the wandering king hears how
His city does not know him.

He approaches a pair of eternal nights
In the sunless ravine where his
Beloved plod with their soles dragging
Along the rocks.

They will not see him as he sits there and
Waits to restore everyone to muddy sight.
He will be the temporary captive below but
The bleeding sovereign ascending, rising in silence.