“. . . if then their uncircumcised heart is humbled . . .”
For long years, there was no way in
to that four-chambered house
through which, we are told
(but don’t know) all emotions go.
It took something more than looks–
your wit, or carriage, or the things
you held to be true
for me to open up to you,
as you did for me,
as you never had before.
Maybe the time was right, I don’t know.
I do know this; we pierced each other
without wounding, and common tides
between two seas now flow.
The swimming’s no good when the tide is low;
let us take our chance at the flood,
and when we are done, your head will
rest against my chest, a mound of flesh
through which blood flows, through which
you shall hear, against your ear,
the beating of a circumcised heart.