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There was a transitory spider’s web
clinging to a metaphoric branch of
birch that I undid stupidly touching
it as I was going down the mountain
side, the troubled spider in the middle
clinging to a strand of its work in the
wind. Happily I see what I had hoped
to see climbing back up. The web is here
again. Dear spider, you do not know how
glad I am that you’ve done what I’d undone
delicate, strong and glistening. These words
will be a sign post telling the passer
not to reach for your tantalizing string.
The poem touches and leaves it hanging.

Drawing by Akram.


  1. FW

    Sweet and svelte, Sirrah!
    Nuovo stil dolce…

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