I watched spiders make their webs Four to five paces apart North to south along the ficus hedge Anchored nearest to the green wall Each two knuckles wide Street lamp orange undersides Yellow tiny joints Each moved quickly Set to finish its trap before the night settled full
I discovered them while walking Seeking familiar toxin And found them Masters of their craft
The first I saw caught that caught my sight The furious movement of rear limbs Catching the stream of silk Guiding it on its way Jagged plucking stemming a straight line Then laying over a guiding wire And moving on From four o’clock to eight it went Then back along the clock’s face Its red underside patient but swiftly going and pulling along Leading a tiny line of molten muted silver Five to eight and back again Pendulumous and measured geometry Dancing back and forth
Then I saw the second South I crept with knees bent low Shrank a hand’s breadth Swift and wonderstruck And it too worked a masterful weave So similar but when I looked back I saw the difference More than size of form between them Slight as was their difference Unique minutiae of brown fuzzy backs and brown fuzzy heads Varying personalities and style Artisans of the same renaissance
And soon I saw a third South still and still different Higher up to catch the light Still giving light to its neighbor Who lets the light reach her neighbor
A fourth’s stilled anchor Taught and shining in the light Beneath the indigo sky Highest of them all Largest of them all
If in the beginning of their dance Drawing cracked windows in the sky Nets or webs or sails I might have seen them Forming a rainbow arc A fragment of such a thing But I did not My wonder and my mind The first catch of the night
Four to Eight by Jonathan Barry Sullivan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.facebook.com/ClayFox.