spider hatch

Morning Spider

What were you trying to say

from down the dry well

of the German coffee maker? 

A brusque “guten Morgan”

unworthy of the finesse required

to defeat the hinged plastic lid,

“bugger off mate” belying

the English taste for tea,

begging bus fare for the Silk Road

transparent even without a bracing first cup.

A caution, then? 

Don’t leave bags unattended,

know the warning signs of stroke,

sleep like a baby

with two-step authentication? 

Choirmaster alone in the apse,

dwarfed by vaulting cathedral walls

soaring seamless into heavenly gloom,

where I hover on high, indifferent

god commanding flood water, bestowing

the random fly of mercy, deigning

to lower a spoon of salvation

while you weave a gossamer chorale, perhaps,

working the tiny shuttles your batons.