Petulant in season and out,
eyes that taunt the lion
and toes that taunt the earth.
You might be drifting, feet above,
in a dance to every growl –
untouchable, to every stone.
And all that you know is known,
and all that the desert allows.
Now here comes the Jordan River,
bullish across the wastes,
and here comes John the Baptist
to sink you like a stone,
and will you lay your body down,
antelope and rose,
and will the lion follow you,
down below, down below?