A spider swung across the glass,
light cutting through the bulb of his back
as he leapt over each color cast
behind the formless web.
His two long forearms laid out lines
as he circled past the axis
where he left a soft white excess
to mark the time and pattern.
He couldn’t see it, he only
sensed it to be there:
a touchstone he revolved around
despite the nothing in the center.
I stared into that space
wondering if a part of me
was empty, small,
of no importance to the city,
and could that become all of me?
I’d been passed from friend to friend
and still didn’t live anywhere,
still wouldn’t for a while.
Something here had made me stay.
Was it ambition I’d misplaced,
stitched in me like a web, or a chain?
Or was it a lie I’d told myself
that came suddenly tearing down
a truth hidden on the ground
blooming open with a hiss?
I can’t stop asking this.