Spider
In the forgotten space
Between the house and the garden,
I embroider silence.
I have no need of needles,
No bobbin, no loom.
Invisible threads, in a warp and weft
Weave a spiral of paused doom.
Silken knots as tight as a heartbeat,
Entomb the morning dew,
Like tiny moonstone cabochons.
There's no thrum of the factory,
No mill.
My needles are neither hammered nor rolled,
Nor polished steel.
In that space between sky and ground
where vibrations hold no sound,
I just weave,
And I wait.
Quite still.
Oh! The suspense!
With a patience and precision,
My thrill is one of detain and restrain.
My signature -
Why - it's my gossamer ligature.
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