Spidercraft
A smallish spider
Rappels herself down between
Me and my screen:
Longlegged and brown
Quite slender, when seen up close
With reading glasses;
Swivelling agile
Down on a thread past my nose,
Landing on my arm;
Instant reaction,
My skinacid is disgusting,
Pulls away again;
Climbs back up fast
Along the thin landingthread
On gripelling legs.
An acute question:
Index finger through the air
Underneath her rump;
Yes, as expected:
The arachnid takes her thread
With her back up.
How? I do not know;
Reeling in backwards perhaps,
Gobbling on the go?
After a minute,
Five feet up by the ceiling,
There she hangs again
In her wire frame
Stretching out above my head
On supporting lines.
There is something
About the spider's method
That resembles mine;
The way they do it,
That looks like thoughts and patterns,
That mirror myself.
They have mastery
Of their own spidery craft;
They’re building things
So nearly alike,
From idea to finished shape,
The things that I do,
That I can almost
Empathise with, in fact, know
What she wants and does,
And therefore always
Step up to admire her
Claw- and spindelwork.