Three short lines hold a surprising amount. The title, "Exegesis," means a careful interpretation of a text, usually a sacred one, and the poem applies that idea to two unlikely things: a river crossing and a bed. At a ford, someone has to read the water, judging its depth, speed and surface to find a safe way across. The poem then asks us to bring that same attention to the bed.
The dash after "morning ford" sets a quiet, early scene, and the shift to "you" makes it intimate. The speaker seems to be addressing a lover, or at least someone close. The poem suggests that the rumpled bed, left after a night together, is something to be read just as closely: what happened there, what changed, what is still uncertain.
The mood is hushed, tender and a little tentative. Crossing a ford takes care, and so does understanding another person. The speaker seems to feel both reverence and caution, treating intimacy as a kind of crossing that is never entirely safe or fully understood.