Silver Spider

on a thread

there’s a speck

clutching the coattails 

of the first spring

sneeze

dragging anchor

over backyards

spinning silk

it wildly weaves

a canopy clinging

to the lightest

breeze

help him land

help him

please,

to venture

beyond

the seasons

intent,

he was

never

meant to live

much longer

than the length

of the back

fence