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.