There is a man

Wandering through my garden,

His heart perched 

Like a crown,

Inhaling the fragrance 

Of my roses.

Who are you?

His footsteps fall mute,

His voice, 

A whisper of kindness,

A paradox,

For one who has

Never known gentleness.

Who _are_ you?

His gaze reflects a knowing,

A familiarity, 

As though 

He has glimpsed me

Before the inception 

Of time.

I know you.

You are the echo 

Of my soul,

Tracing the tendrils 

Of my garden

In intricate unity.

They sway beneath your touch.

I know _you_—

A living 

Prayer,

Sculpted,

Refined,

And bestowed 

Upon me.