"Spiders' Secrets"
From inside I sat watching
busy spiders outside glass windows.
Weaving. Waiting.
Sparkled ballerinas of the night,
spinning silk tutus in lunar might.
spinning silk tutus in lunar might.
Eight hollow hands of master craftsmen
greet fated preys with mystical smiles.
Grab them tight,
in genetic desire.
You performed at 10pm last month,
9pm last week, 8pm today.
A magical show from your buzzing bay.
As sun rises you crawl back in corners,
suspended in time
when hunters are hunted.
Oh prophet spiders,
spin me your secrets.
Of time and space,
hot and cold.
The programmed instincts only you know.
Of being there and then,
with winds' voices and whispered rains.
Of being free in wooden frames,
taking joy in idleness,
catching purpose,
in wilderness.
27 August 2014
Cambridge
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