::The Art of Living a Transient Life::
--For Stephen James
The only thing sparkling
in the empty kitchen
were the thin tendrils of webbing
left clinging to the windowsill:
forgotten.
(The tiny inhabitant
long ago vacated the residence
in favor of the dark moisture
of the bread drawer.)
I watched the hairlike microfibers
writhe and shine
As my brother stepped into the kitchen from the garage,
stumbling as he opened the paneled door while
balancing two unfilled boxes in his hairless arms.
My hands crumpled the yellowing newspaper,
(to form lumps,
aimed to nestle between
the blue and gold Lenox gravy boat
and the white Mikasa serving platter)
as the spider emerged from his shaded abode.
Spider: the master of detail:
Who, only by moving can balance,
so carefully on a shivering matrix.
Spider:
Is it hard to build a house out of confusion,
as everyday you wait for the ceiling to collapse?
Your agility kept you suspended
while the world intruded
upon your delicately spun world:
(center of the arachnid universe).
It must be hard to suspend yourself laterally
when all the world is vertical.
Spider can I ask you one question?
How do you prepare yourself for a fall?
