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THE FIRST CARDINAL I HAVE EVER SEEN

Pulled away from campus by a question,
drawn along Einstein Drive in Princeton,
I walk between two lines of sycamores
beside the Institute where physicists
chase math and meaning
in the midst of randomness.
A journal entry five weeks into seminary:
In the presence
of the Holy One
precisely who am I?
The sycamores form a narrow nave.
Unsteady acolyte, I walk the center aisle.
I walk and walk and walk.
Within the branches of a bush,
a flame.
Or no. A bird!
Physicists are asking what might hold
together everything.
Seminarians are asking God.
Bright red feathers, soft insistent song,
the bird calls me to let the question be.
And I am just now learning how to walk.
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