My heart is like a shallow ford,
and on either side of the road that leads
to it there is a chain link fence,
razor wire on top, and on the side
of the fence there are signs, at intervals,
warning of unexploded bombs.
My heart is like a shallow ford
and when you finally reach it, the water
flows creamy brown, and reeds
wave on the bank, and on the other shore
there is another country, with fig trees
and palms. Just a few steps away.
My heart is like a shallow ford
where Jesus may have come, and may
have knelt, and may have risen up,
streaming, though there are other
bends in the Jordan where he could have
entered, too, and seen the dove,
and heard the voice. No one knows.
My heart is like a shallow ford.