Notes: I've always loved spider webs, perhaps more outside than inside.
glimpses of glimmering gossamer in
what amounts to be the negative of a room.
caught between bushes, back behind sight.
dew catches light and turns it to liquid,
little teardrops of sun from winding thread.
arachne will be, has been, is being chased out of her home,
a marvel separated from its artist.
against every reason again she spins,
hallowed but just for a moment
when the sun is caught on dew
balancing gently on gossamer threads.