All Our Eyes

How can you be big enough
to exist everywhere
but small enough to puzzle
behind the eyes
of a bird perched
on the feeder?
From inside a crested head
cocking quickly side to side,
you seem to struggle
with my name, my face.

Not like the brick-red stone
I found in the desert.
You always know me
from inside that pebble,
warm against my hand,
or wobbling in a breeze
atop my forehead
when I lie down, close my eyes,
watch the rock's color bleed
hot through my eyelids.

This morning, you seem content
to hover as a mist
above snow drifted deep
in the forest.

While, off in the distance,
your tongue illumines
the fog from gray to white,
your throat plowing ripples
through the silence.

How can you be one Mind
but perceive and speak things
differently
through each eye, ear, mouth
in the Universe?

Scott Speck
02/23/2003