Arachnid I

When I opened

the sun umbrella for

breakfast shade,

the striped spider’s perfect

web ripped in half

and collapsed.

In remorse for the offhand

gesture that destroyed her art,

I gave the spider

a loose strand

of my long hair,

the exact silver color

of her skill.

And watched

—while eating watermelon

laced with chocolate—

the spider suspended on a thread

doing science with my own

slender spun

filament.

Two worlds

suspended and

interacting—

which is which?

After coffee and fiction,

the striped spider is gone,

where?

but there is

a new slender thread

now attached to my chair,

and I am

assimilated into the web.