By Mike Smith
All Things Are Connected
Touch this web
We call the world
However lightly
With your God-finger
And see
From each concentric strand
The dew is shaken
Not one strained string
There is that does not shimmer
With that motion
Even the hollow centre
Ring of nothingness
Into which we fall
Moves
And the guy-line cables
That hold this universe in place
Tremble.
(Published first in Acumen Magazine in 2006 and then in its anthology, First Sixty.)
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Mike Smith lives on the edge of England where he writes occasional plays, poetry, and essays, usually on the short story form in which he writes as Brindley Hallam Dennis. His writing has been published and performed. He blogs at www.Bhdandme.wordpress.com
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