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Water Marks

How strange to end as it began. . .

bereft of hope amidst their tears . . .

their hope now born for years to come . . .

water flowing from his side

splashing in the dust below

the salty taste of blood and sweat

thirsting for a memory . . .

the Jordan’s bank and the day

his cousin gently laid him back

within the water’s cool embrace

perhaps a vision of his friend

beckoning with outstretched arms . . .

his mother at the cross’ foot

her tears that fell like sun baked stones

from a mother’s broken heart-

the heart of God within her own . . .

watermarks of things to come

a stone rolled silently away

footprints in the morning dew

the only sign, gone by noon,

that he had rested there at all

pointing toward a newborn world

unready for his second birth . . .

unprepared as with his first

questioning as Nicodemus did

“How can one be born again?”

Amniotic . . .

through all time

proof of life that conquers death . . .

the best is always saved for last-

eternal water turned to wine.


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