30/05/2026
THE GRAIN OF TRUTH.
A poem about wood...
And William Blake.
Bill Blake stopped by my 'shop today,
With beach dust in his hand,
He held up a tiny fragment,
And saw the world in a grain of sand.
I said fair enough Bill, that's impressive,
But in my grain I see much deeper,
And pointed to my cluttered bench,
Amok with oak and pine and cedar.
You see, in your spiky particle,
There's just objects, physics, matter.
A big bang, some constellations,
All that babbling quantum chatter.
But in that log, this edge, those dove tails,
I see echoes of our essence.
The pulse and flow of spirit and soul,
The stuff without which matter doesn't matter.
