by roy k austin
I zoomed into a bowl of rust
and didn't have a clue,
until I saw the change it made
up close, and different too,
it seemed it's squiggled edges
marked a landscape with a view,
and a cleared patch, for a glade
and an upright scratch or two,
that scraped a hermit's cottage
in a wood that I once knew.
and for a start I thought of art,
though unsightly near the linden,
there was soul in that old bowl
abandoned to a midden,
I tried imagining the users
who discarded with a foot
the loving message on the rim
for anyone to loot,but then
what came to mind was William
Blake, though with the second - hand,
and what a lovely world he saw
' within a grain of sand ' ;
in standing back with naked eye
straight lines were overgrown,
a wall, man's will, was covered
as if the Ivy claimed it's own,
and the cooper's iron rings-
the wooden barrels they would roll
and in the cold enduring daylight
that old bowl was just a bowl.
as I accused my new camera.
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