The Spider

The legs of a spider travel

the distance of your sleeve

as moments tangle

and meanings ravel

on the edge

of your exposed teeth.

 

“What is this thing I feel on my back?”

You ask, still half asleep

as the grass hums

and rumors creep.

“It is the time that walks

and weights

and heaves

through widening cracks

of bare skin.”

 

The legs of the spider leave

no trace with which to tell

that six eyes did once observe

two narrow shadows

on the brink of becoming

two empty shells.

 

(which the sun later found

and erased)