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Whenever I thirst Jesus arrives first.
With a steady hand, He wipes the sand
From my lips and dips
A ladle in a cup,
Brimming with water.
Moving the ladle over the surface,
He skims away my glassy image.

Now, I am no longer a hero:
My image breaking and rippling
With the surface of the water, turning
Into ever-expanding zeroes,
Reminding me of the nothing that I am
Without Him. Then, the Holy Spirit
Moves over me,
And I calm with the surface of the water.

Slowly, in the stillness of His creation,
The image of my Father appears.
In wonder: for the life of me, I can’t remember
An image of kindness and love: so tender.
I am struck dumb, drinking my fill
Of the living water and feel the chill
Inside me
Of eternity.

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