My Poetry Style

Six feet tall anchored with thin lines to the rain spouts and drains, hanging like a circular banner glowing in our security light centered by a dark wriggly thing big enough to see from the upstairs window. There's something about the moving legs of spiders that scares me, so precisely was it sorting out its threads. But in the morning nothing but a ruin. The light runs swiftly through it, barely diffused and there is no monster.