04:13 Spider

 

Return, return to the reverend night:

I know you’re there, and still I see you not.

 

Such dreams you make, like a memory from home,

Silk-borne descending, a waking thought of harm.

 

Return, return to the reverend night:

I know you’re there, and still I see you not.

 

 

I awoke to find the curious form, directly above me and maybe an inch from my nose, a spider dangling like the sword of Damocles overhead. It seemed to notice I had stirred: it promptly began to make a retreat back up the silk, becoming infinitesimally small as it made for the vanishing point. It reminded me firstly of “dreamcatchers”; and then of that marvelous scene in Macbeth where the eponymous, mind-addled thane imagines he sees a dagger before his eyes. I felt at once a sort of peace, but also a real threat in what might have happened during my sleep. 


I will one day get over using half-rhymes. But it is not this day.  

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