September’s sun
wanes, slanted,
weakened,
leaving morning dew longer,
lingering to reveal the spider
deep in her lacy funnel
lined by luminous prismed drops
as countless as her eyes.
I walk to pick the morning’s herbs
and see the shining threaded webs
woven among the sorrel,
the bent bladed grass.
I step carefully.
How many times have I wrecked
something beautiful
without knowing?
-Patricia Thrushart
https://www.facebook.com/patriciathrushart/
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