Straws

In the early light I stole a spider's strand From insect looms In the fallen Eden by the back fence Held it stretched Between the pads of my peter pointers The sun ran up and down it As a tightrope walker Wary of repose As if pausing would mean a sticky end At the hands of some arachnid foe The old air Harboured by hidden organs Under ivory keyboard cage Escaped in a silent stream Through a flesh flute Tore the cable into fragments And a foreign wind caught them away I found something in the thought That a thread Which might have borne a burden's weight Eight hundred times its own Could be fractured so irreparably In one strategic blow When I walk down fragile paths Of silver spun glass I remember your life was a tapestry Woven with straws of silk And straws of broken backs