The spider sits on a twig
where the woods give way
to the sea's ragged edge.
The moon, glowing like mother-of -pearl,
has risen from the watery horizon.

Spin me a web,"
I say,
"from here to the tranquil lakes of the moon,
that I may ascend
to collect its pearls."

"Spin me a poem,"
 she says,
"that I may weave you a hammock
to cradle your soul's opalescent longing."

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.