[from Muddy Prints, Water Shine]
In a single night
a garden spider flings her web
across our drive, from neat hedge
to the gutter above the garage.
We step outside
to find her blazoned against the orb.
Mike moves to ground her.
Eight legs in barber stripes
climb a strand, then hesitate —
she seems to measure us.
“Stop,” I say.
I hold Mike’s arm. I spin him around
to the orb of sun blazing.
Our spider rides her silk
back to the gutter, steadily reels it back
into the spinnerets
she spun an evening from.