Wednesday, August 18, 2010


They weave and crawl
In hidden places
And make jeweled patterns
In the trees and in my classroom
Outside on bench and table,
In doorways and across the expanse of our windows
On drain pipes and coat hooks they hold cottony white
And stick to passers by
The patterns shine with dew drops in the early morning
And capture the unsuspecting
Today I swept away a summers worth of work
Home and Table
Caught on the end of my broom
I pushed the workers out once again to the periphery of my world
Wishing them well and gone all the same
They made an eight legged escape over the brush and up the hill
To begin a new Pattern in the trees
Far away from prying bristles
That destroys a summer’s work in a moment

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