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
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