Of Spiders and Saints
Today there is only this spider to consider,
And I do, watching it manage to somehow
Not stumble over all its legs, wondering why
It needs so many as it strides up the wall
And across and down again, not finding
A place yet for the web it will no doubt make
In the shadow where the wall meets ceiling,
Likely wasting its time, it being January
And all the heedless moths and flies have
Already blundered into their own deaths.
Now it comes to the window, hesitating,
Testing the deep gray light with one leg
As if it might be water, then steps into it
And seems to disappear under the waves
Of rain inundating the other side, thunder
And in the gutters a sound like sea-surge,
A Moth husk caught in a web of sill-dust,
Life, death, hunger and something like faith.
I think of Saint Veronica, who ate nothing
But spiders. It's an eat or be eaten world.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2012-01-24 at 19:25
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Lawrence Beck |