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John 2:11

I thought I knew something of water:
its properties, the way it travels
down mountains, strong as daughters

as they leave their homes. How I carried
it uphill for cooking, cleansing,
filled pots for those newly married,

and knew the way it smoothed hewn stone,
but I did not see its color
turn or understand its taste and tone

until one wedding I saw the bridegroom
raise a toast and pledge sweetness
beyond his entrance to the tomb—

the water changed like light in an eye
or like the wind settling down
even as breath rattles then dies.

Fruit and tannin swirled before me
as I lifted my own servant cup
inhaling the new bouquet and body.

Photo by Piotr Musioł on Unsplash

Mark D. Bennion

Mark Bennion's work has appeared or will appear in Christianity & LiteratureDappled ThingsGhost City Review The LyricWindhover, and other journals. For the past several years we has taught writing and literature at Ricks College/BYU-Idaho.