The opulence of spider's webs.
Succumbed to the seduction of frost
following a winter's kiss.
The deliberate movements of creatures we kill 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 kill 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.