Kindred spider
Design
the dew knows
and signs,
sudden in light,
then gone.
In moonlight,
silverblue
strung between stars,
at dawn,
a golden target in the green.
Spider
web
net of thinking,
lined
like an old woman’s face.
The spider’s legs move
like silent syllables.
She dances down her lines
like a breath
down a nervous question.
Shivering peace,
silent war,
and what it means
the wind knows,
winding through our dreams.
So much
depends upon
how skillfully she conjures
death, weaving it gently
into life.
Sean Lause is a professor of English at Rhodes State College in Lima, Ohio. His poems have appeared in The Minnesota Review, Another Chicago Magazine, The Beloit Poetry Journal, and Illuminations. His books of poetry include Bestiary of Souls (FutureCycle Press, 2013) and Midwest Theodicy (Taj Mahal Review, 2020).
Header photo by jplenio, courtesy Pixabay.
