Web

How quickly it turns, the time,

Days racing by like rockets

Barely glimpsed then lost to the

Horizon, gone before we could

Make out their markings,

Much less their destinations.

The clouds are boats in an

Easy sea, gliding like galleons

Before a soft wind, stately,

Slow, southbound, leaving

No wake to trouble the sky

With their passing. I am

Building a web, linking this

Hour to what has passed

And what will come with

Filaments intangible

As a moment, as the mist.

Tonight the garden spider

Will drop anchor alongside the

Downspout and spin a circle

Of sticky silk and ambition.

May she have better luck

Catching her prey than I have.

9/8/2023