The Web

Web

The spider thought
Has moved quickly
Along its way
A stretched and twisted way
Creating form only through
Time as if the
Tiny arachnid brain
Has contained this random
Pattern.

Each thought to each is
Joined by fine filaments
Invisible to others
Obscure even to itself.
The logic of the web
Catching thoughts - -
Images and
Memories tugging at
The edges of awareness.

A childhood of disjointed
Places
Of reaching into empty air
Of spinning tales and
Borrowing bits

The spider cannot know
Another web
Except where they connect
An unnatural event for each
Spinning is a whole cloth
Of its own.

In his lone
high wire act his desperate
Leap of faith
Into the soft empty
Night.

Is the spider
In the center of his
Web master of all he
Embraces
Or does he grasp
empty void punctuated by
By the accidental fly?