drifting

I am adrift
   on a long, slow flow
of memory's stream.
   I am floating,
recalling places
   I have never been,
gazing into a colossal tree
   at the gargantuan nest
of an eagle, scouring the sea 

to find food
   for hatchlings that are
indiscernible to my eyes.
   Does he know
I'm waiting, watching
   as he surveys the sky?
I feel inconsequential
   alone, unmoored,
untethered, reverential.

The kayak glides
   with the current;
and as I turn,
   coasting on
in languid circles
   there he is astern,
balanced on a pole above,
   anticipating who might
make the first move; 

just as we wait for God
   to rip our hearts
with rapier talon,
   to batter us bloody,
then lift us skyward,
   and far beyond,
nestling us with His brood,
   where he feeds us with
Himself who is our food.

Liz McFadzean