I am the universe, of all things made.
I am the nothingness, that vast expanse.
I am the treasury of life’s parade.
I am the first step, I am the last dance.
You are the timely natural consequence
of that which occurs and comes to pass.
You are the perfect, ideal, confluence
of all things given to a common class.
We are the harvest, the expectation;
we are the whole, much greater than its parts.
We are the wonder, the fascination;
we are the child of Science and the Arts.
. Together… one drop in a constant stream.
. Together… one stitch in an endless seam.

Tim Grace, 27 November 2011

To the reader: A description of everything must include thought; not just the enactment of thought. Any mental configuration is a construct of the universe. To claim that anything, once thought, doesn’t exist is a fallacy. Our power to imagine does not exist outside the universe. If we imagine an omnipotent power then such a Thing exists. Any claim that the Thing does not exist is as questionable as the original figment of imagination that created the Thing. We can argue about the Thing but not of its existence … it has been thought, therefore it exists; for good or ill.

To the poet: In providing commentary to this cluster of poems it’s obvious that at the time of writing them (in late 2011) I was conscious of the sonnet’s fourteen-line shape. There’s a regular use of four-line blocks visually similar; architectural in design. The stanzas are built like reinforced pillars preparing the way for a capstone-couplet. Some where, I recall reading, the sonnet is a poetic form that mirrors the Golden Ratio.

constant & endless