Palm Sunday
The vaulted arches
of palm trees
breaking through the canopy,
this is my church,
the fountain is a crucifix,
an alter, under
a stained glass sky.
My priest is robed in the splendour
of sunlight and splashing water.
These stone benches
encircling the plaza
are the pews, at which we sit and,
head bowed, pen to paper,
I pray.