Water rolls off his shoulders, slow.
An inhale, deep and holy, lingers.
The river hums, an earthbound hymn.
Above: a crack in heaven’s jaw.
Bright light spills like spilled miracles,
and then, wings—the color of calm.
A dove, wrapped in wind, descends.
It hovers and perches on his breath.
Around him, silence folds itself still.
The air becomes heavy with knowing,
a voice breaks: thunder soft as whispers.
“This is my Son.” The words curl, settle.
Chosen and marked, love swells wide.
The light stretches between them both,
a golden thread tied to their hearts.
Heaven bends down, reaches out, stays.