Thursday, August 05, 2010


The broken filament, hard work in silver hangs
loose in the languid gusts of afternoon, snapped
by uncareful fingers through the spider's web, set adrift.
In the morning it had glistened, taut in its symmetry,
peaceful at the end of a night's weaving. Silk poured
from the body. Then, continuity cut, mute, quick, now wavering.

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