You turn water into wine at a wedding, then I sit on a Sabbath day watching as you give a sermon better than the scribes, drive a demon from the dead eyes of an unclean man who screams youβre the Holy God and King-- one night, I bring you home to my wife, and her mother fevered, flickering life on a bed upstairs sheβs cold, shivering til you hold her hand and lift her laughing, well, so whole she can run to open the door for knocking neighbors, who come in crying and leave smiling, all sickness and evil spirits fleeing you, whoβs gone to pray when I wake next morning, who I search for, frantic, fearing losing you as Iβve just begun to find you.