How does a creature, such as I,

Come to allow for beauty in its habitat?


These dexterous aspects of me, which otherwise

Would capture prey: these spindles, these

Vertices and angles which describe me;


Which would otherwise be slaves to appetites,

Servants to my unthinking purposes;


They are only limited by definition. So, true,

They can be the architects of cruelty;

And too, the eight virtues of a faith.


I have learnt to cast spells from it. I have learnt

To trace these claws on surfaces. See now,


How even sunlight becomes encased in my

Spider’s web, preserved in amber,

Martyred in dewdrops, my own device,


And is spun gold. This is my sole design.

Nature, recast in silk, to weave religion.

A spider who drew the sun: who drew with light.



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