A spider sits on her thread
Weaving her world  
From a dream.

Looking down at her child
Lost and listless.  Unknown to him
She longs for his return.

If only, I too, 
Had eight eyes 
I could aim towards high heaven.

Like the spider aims down
Towards the world
Seeing all, without need for faith.

I’m blinder now mind’s eye dead
Seeing no more
The hidden.

At times I thought I was so wise
With my rejection of all
Not seen.

I stopped dreaming long ago.
Later I stopped looking up
At all the stars.


I still saw the sunsets; 
Their beauty only science
Refraction from a star.

Prudence like a guard
For what little pride
Hid inside my heart.

I still saw the storm clouds;
Their beauty-like violence
Attraction from afar.

The moon sets with thunder
Then the morning comes
To end the evening’s dark wonder.

Orange clouds stuck in place surrounding
Wisps of black and gray,
Like Marigolds, burning in a stillborn sky.

An image birthed for a moment
Only to exist in my mind
Then in the real world, die. 

Wiped away by wind
Like the strong gust
That blows a spider’s web goodbye.

As easy as cutting the thread
Of my childhood
Bible’s bookmark ribbon

That day the sky was wide.
A calm river that winded
Until dusk broke its flow.

Cloudless,
the moon hidden in shadow.
That night
 
I started to look again
At those dew drops
Strewn across the endless sky