The opulence of spider's webs. Succumbed to the seduction of frost following a winter's kiss. The deliberate movements of creatures we **** with large books And capture in glass and rolled up paper. So ignored and unwanted and unwilling to become silently encrusted and suddenly abundant Yet still treasured and precious and rare. Only because of the winter we often find so cold and so dark and
so
infinite.
Without the chilled infinity And our own winters And our own darkness We would **** our own creatures with large books And capture them in glass and rolled up paper.
We would not appreciate or speculate or come to love the things we loathed or notice the opulence of spider's webs.