River Stones

The shape
of a heart in the east
cast no shadows.
As the maker moved
through the garden
saturating the steps so
full beads slipped down
trickling into the first.

A river pointed toward gold while
the second gushed brazen
over a land encircling
an urban crown like anointing oil.
Three and four
spanned forward as ancient
lasting limbs marking
the map to the garden door.

Inside the formed man lay
near streams under the tender canopy
of promises freshly instilled
in the temple vines as
veils softened the blossoming ark.
Rose petals bowed open as
holy water shaped the river stones.

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