ceaseless and lucid as the rising sun
simple as morning worms
invisible as today’s breeze
waiting, waiting to catch me in a sticky pause
A web sturdy as the ant’s back,
the one who carries away my frosted flake
A web shimmering only in the right light
at just the
right angle
or right
time of day, of year, of life
This web, intricate and complicated
beyond my capacity to design,
brushed away as an irritant
an
annoyance
or was that
fear?
I break this web’s anchor from fence post and tree limb
and yet it is spun again through the night, every night,
and yet the impenetrable pattern
that ambiguous weaving
an obscure path
so unclear to me, until today,
when a particular ray of the sun, a hint of first light,
cuts through this one web
so simply, so rightly
into my dawn.
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