She circled in gossamer light,
jaw and fine hairy legs weaving all night long—
how it all trembles now in the breeze,
the dawn shivering two pie-slices of web into brilliance.
She’s tucked up beneath cedar-siding,
and cannot even blink when a few fragile lines
Tonight, she simply will begin again.
Beauty? Utility? Work? Play?
These are things I muse about,
nose to nose with spider and her life’s labor.
Such a holy text,
the way to Stand
written in movement and illumination
about Becoming creation
over and over again
and not notice anything
disciplined or arduous or