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THE SPIDER AT OUR DOOR


All summer a spider, mottled like a cheetah, 

managed a web by our kitchen door.

 

Tap the net

and it would do its eight shoe scuttle. 

 

It went finally:

but the engineering survived -

intricate, pliable, foolproof -

through seasons of drizzle and bluster.

 

On an April day, a pallid sun

backlit trapped raindrops,

shimmering prisms.

We paused on the step, delighted.

 

The power of things to strive to be themselves

is absolutely self-regarding,

and unstoppable.

 

 

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This entry was posted on Sunday, December 20th, 2009, 11:37 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

  1. #1 by Lesley Johnson - January 25th, 2010 at 17:54

    There you go – even as the Bruce – and learning from the same small master … ain’t life strange.

    P.S. Love that eight shoe ‘scuttle’.

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