White Spider or Tiny Angel

An unusual spider, pure white it was,

came to our garden this year

and spun a web, a cloud hung in a carrageenan hedge,

a late snow that fell during a night

when words weren’t enough. And as you paced alone

you recalled an offered bouquet of white roses,

white the color of forgiveness, he’d said, and you knew then

something precious was about to disappear

come morning.


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