A Tattered Web
An absent spider
left a tattered web to blow
in rosemary spines.
An ancient silk ruin hangs
in memory of the past,
of disappeared life,
just as the spines turn brittle
to die in summer's
heat and tell a tale of woe
from a once vibrant garden.
The drought is now past,
but the damage has been done.
No more do insects
roam among the fragrant green
nor pollinate red roses.
Long abandoned hopes
like doors falling from hinges
waft in a ghost town.
Abandoned linen now torn
drapes then lilts in silent breeze.
8/21/17
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