Arachne

your house was full of tiny spiders in chilly corners they hung like flowers, dry silvered husks of some vine’s blossoms, curling in upon themselves) or vaulted window -frames, forelegs drawn like lances flashing fashioning moths’ shrouds of sticky sleep for the unaware. some fled me. where I came to watch them the small mummies testified, or merely some tracery, ancient and minute blew still upon the wall but most were so small I think they could not see us, which comforts me when the world narrows when I feel amid my embroideries accessible to all.