The Crossing

 Walking in the River,

      not just any river, 

        but the River, 

          touching both banks,

One on earth, one in glory.

First in ankle deep water,

    now bouncing up and down, 

      one foot, then another,

        neck deep and more,

Breathing air and water.

Behind, too far away, 

   ahead, still distant, 

      out here somewhere,

        in the deep middle,

Hoping not to go under.

Midst the dark water, 

    the dense swirling mist,

      a Hand appears, 

       reaching, taking, 

Toward the distant shore.

On the edge of the other side, 

   the light of glory shines, 

     the Face of the Hand,

       now ever present

And, the Voice says, "Home."