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| Padishah Press |
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| In the Season of Spiders I have walked through webs, Complex designs of the weavers Who sleep the day away, Resting from their nocturnal vigilance. It is that time When cicada still sing And a gibbous moon Accompanies one Through the night. I do not begrudge them Their night work, Yet I have taken the vacuum To their resting places, For fear of entanglement, Their little ones ready To burst from the nest Float on the wind toward distant places, Denied their future. I have often wondered What special silk Spiders would make, And how a lowly worm Was chosen by the Chinese For their trade. If I could wear a spider-sewn cape, The spectral blaze of stars glistening in its folds, I’d fly on arachnid wings ― Cousin to the bat, Companion to the Moon, A night traveler In the season of spiders. |
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| Selected Poems |
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