You move like a typing hand
that’s been removed from its appendage.
Each crafting leg steps
with the delicate dexterity of walking fingertips.
I imagine you along my spine,
cresting upon my distracted shoulder;
and without looking to find her,
I could mistake you for my lover’s touch,
for I am easily deceived by the webs you spin.
It is your predaceous composure that I admire most.
Laying traps that serve you well,
you do not mind the wait.
Patience suits you.
Connections are drawn by your filaments spun,
And throughout the treetops your tapestries are strung,
Collecting dewdrops that capture the sun,
Nature’s mandalas waiting for the insects to come.*
*Apologies for not resisting the rhyme 🙂