The Poet Watches a Spider
 
little weaver
little magician
little acrobat
is it hunger that drives you
to this art
to work without  a net
held by a thread
 
how do you know
where to go next
in your magnificent maze
 
little dreamer
slave to wind  to whim
and we who wipe your
work away
without a thought
 
little mime
touching the sides
of your invisible world
 
teach me how to create
such ordered artistry
 
little spinner
teach me patience
 
teach me to weave
beauty from nothing
 
create wonder
from want