Between Homes, We Look for Rest

spider highways, byways
if they sold their wares, their lives
to our dreams, we’d need markets

in the grasses, haystands for peddlers
haggling their way to night

but spiders. do they need long
strands of interstate?

horse-hair to connect
colonies? like trip wires
for soft-legged creatures

it may be that the bruises in
my eyes are the reflection of the moon

graying plains beyond reach. reminds
me I’m getting older.

today, I’m young
on this porch for one last morning
the place I’ve thought was mine

strawberry seeds in my teeth

spiderwebs still clinging to my ankles
in the grass, they glitter like

the jet streams of people going places

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