Now standing there were six stone water jars
for the Jewish rites of purification,
each holding twenty or thirty gallons.
you change the water of my life
into the wine of your touch,
if only I taste.
What was plain becomes mystery.
The cup of want
becomes jugs of abundance,
The jars of obligation,
the pots of my attempts,
my hope of being acceptable,
my rite of shame and inadequacy,
you fill with delight instead.
Beloved, I see now—
this wedding must be mine.