Eddies and Spider Webs

Eddies and Spider Webs

in the crawl space beside old skates
(ten years of National Geographic)
wine and spider webs age

these stairs have creaked through three children

*

sun bleeds through the neighbour’s mountain ash and
the way I remember you is in eddies

(gravity and sheer stress) that movement travelling
forever yet always there (freight train shattering midnight)

*

spider web tatters dance in October wind

when I open the garage door to be faced
by rain (not suicide bombers and madness)
tap-dancing Fred Astaire and a smile that circles the lamppost

*

spider waltzing back into the cedar as I approach
with my macro lens—I imagine each step as a memory
of what was built and how that hour tasted consumed
in anticipation and existential faith

*

it’s a matter of scale—the Magellanic cloud passing sheered
towards us by gravity—your youth circling through our age—
each part of the web conceived out of the spider—king
of the empty carapace jungle—victim of the gravity of place