To a rusty nail
one thin strand of spider silk
clings tenaciously.
Moonlight in my hand
weighs less than a fly’s left wing
or a spider’s breath.
Above the fragrance
of incense in the temple
a spider dangles.
To my winter coat
a desiccated spider
clings as though alive.
In my coffee cup
a spider weaves a new web—
autumn’s first surprise.
Mark M. Redfearn 