“Spider Webs”

There is a path where I live

that leads to the beach

and every morning when I go to swim

with my dad and grandpa

there are spider webs spun across it.

Tentative tendrils weaved across space

which stick to my face as I rub

the sleep out my eyes.


I always wonder how they do it,

how these small beings spin

their thread from tree to tree

across the vast chasm between,

far bigger than them.

How do they bridge the gaps

without getting their silk stuck

during the dark and lonely night?


Is it possible to spin words

like spiders spin webs?

Words joining beauty and expression,

creating impossible,

dazzlingly intricate designs

with a hundred times the tensile

strength of man-made steel

that only sleeping giants break?


Is it possible to rebuild my thoughts

every time night descends

so that only those with starlight cameras

could ever know how it’s done?

How this spider web of words is spun

until just the right place is found

so that it survives the harsh reality of day

and lives on, unbreakable.


Beautiful expression is as strong

and fragile as those silk creations.

Perhaps that’s why my dad tries

to move them gently out the way,

smiling at the spider’s efforts.

It’s just a thought, not a poem,

but move it with care and

it may survive the morning swim.

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