My heart is like a shallow ford,
and on either side of the road that leads to it
there is a chain link fence with razor wire
on top and signs, in several languages,
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.
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.