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One day my lover asked me,

what place I’d most like to see in the world.

Through my mind ran a host of places,

pictures of things I’d seen.

There were palaces, and churches,

tall cathedrals and temples all over the world.

There were oceans of the deepest blue,

and fields of the most emerald green.

In my mind there rose, as being more perfect

a place than any other, the Giant’s Causeway,

there on the edge of the sea, in Ireland.

Whether it is, as legend says, a pathway for feuding giants,

or else the expression of laws governing everything

that is and that lives throughout our world,

I do not know.

Sometimes, fact is stranger than fiction.

Those stepping stones, on the edge

of frothy, foaming seas, honeycombs,

seem to me the work of gods, geometric-perfect.

How can such things be in our world?

How does nature know to produce this?

If this wonder of nature is made so easily,

how may we understand ourselves in this world,

this system governing everything around us?

Are we perfect? Do we fit exactly into the pattern

of existence like the hexagons in the Giant’s Causeway,

designed to fit into the whole without any gaps?

Yes, if ever I were to go anywhere in the world,

it would be to the Giant’s Causeway.

There I’d step on those ancient stones,

walk from one to the next while they supported me,

and wonder about the perfection all around,

and of how I fit into the whole.