I’m still leaning at this table

working to an electric lamp

trying to solve the riddle

of the predicament.

 

While the moth taps at the window

and the kitchen ticks dryly

like the secret workings of a clock.

 

The spider and I weaving quietly in our corners,

we’re like the collaborators

in the prison scene after lights out,

still combing the blueprints,

masterminding the architecture,

trying to break ourselves free.