2.38 am
The wind in the trees wakes you,
crossing and uncrossing hands
against the wall.
In the corner the spider weaves in darkness
diligently perfecting his
only means of expression.
He’s clinging to it with his life
knowing the slightest breeze
might blow it all away.
raypool
Tue 5th Sep 2017 17:46
As David says, fragility comes across here and a sort of delicacy I feel which is the lightness of being in your poems.
It intrigues me that you specify the time so precisely, it gives the reader a sense of the immediate, as if time itself is fragile.
Ray