My God of All

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.

How can you be one Mind
but see and hear things
differently
through each set of eyes and ears
in the Universe?

This morning, you appear content
to hover mindlessly
in a mist above snow
drifted deep between the trees.

While off in the distance
your tongue flashes
fog from gray to white,
and your throat
plows ripples
through the silence.

Scott Speck
02/23/2003