Of Webs and Windows

You weave them,
soft, silky, beautiful.
One by one they stretch
across your vision,

capturing the light,
capturing anything
that threatens you,
a silk prison

of your own creation,
growing, strand by strand
in the darkness of your cellar, where
it cannot be seen, where

you can safely ignore it, pretend
it is not there, where
it grows thicker and thicker,
stronger and stronger

no longer a thing of beauty
but a prison,
a castle wall
with no doors

holding you in,
holding me out.

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I particularly like this picture for some reason. It was taken in the basement of the house where the woman I love lives, while we were stacking wood last weekend. I took a bunch of them (so alas, you are likely to see more) before she cleaned them all away to create a fresh palette for the spiders. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom