repost

Morning Spider

What were you trying to say

from down the dry well

of our 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? 

But your solitude, small bare bulb

of abdomen, put me in mind

of a monks tonsure, choirmaster

alone in the apse, dwarfed

by vaulting cathedral walls

soaring seamless into heavenly gloom,

where I hover on high, indifferent

god commanding the flood waters,

bestowing random flies of mercy,

deigning to lower a spoon of salvation

while you weave a gossamer chorale,  

working the tiny shuttles of your batons.