Just a Wall.

As I gaze at the grey painted brick wall,
I recall seeng clouds the other night.
They were shaped somewhat like bricks.

The night sky was covered with wooly clouds,
but they had regular gaps. A lone young tree with
long fingered branches stood in front of snowy bricks.

It looked like a child's drawing, simple but elemental.
Young children see into the heart of things.
The word 'seeing' is so inadequate here.
A child doesn't merely look, he intuits eternity in
everything he touches, as old Blake surmised.

Before very long, the veil of instruction descends and
the divine enchantment is no longer palpable.
The humble and great hearted are able to
touch it briefly.
Yet, the long fingered tree and its' cloudy allies dwell there.


Reference:"Auguries of Innocense," William Blake