The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

Nothing's asked
and very little said
two strangers lie
on either side of the bed.

Life ticks on
Like a rusted clock
to the eerie routine
all dreams are fed.

Yet there's a spark
that lights a fire or two
in the moonless night
it shines like a dew.

Morning comes
and rings the bell
pushing the tiny sparks
into hell.

And life ticks on
like a rusted clock.
Two Strangers live
on each side of their bed.