by Karen Luke Jackson
For weeks, I tried to spy a nesting pair
through a mounted white pipe;
peered at moss-padded sticks lodged
in the crown of a longleaf pine.
Today, on this needled trail
where gopher turtles sling sand,
woodpeckers jack hammer, and mullet
dead from red tide stench the air,
an eagle executes a flyby,
like God who sails into sight
when I quit straining.
Hindus claim divine
has a thousand names,
Sufis ninety-nine,
and Christians
three-in-one
while Jews
refuse to utter
a string of consonants
which, if whispered
under the breath,
can crumble a body
into trembling earth.
So I’ll cease my search; instead
marvel at the scamper
of a tiny lizard, scaling
a wooden bench, dialing
colors to match.
Beautiful poem, Karen! I will be looking up your poems in other sites.
Thank you, Karen. Being a lover of nature and all of God’s glorious wonder, I can relate to your poem.