Take, for instance, this spider.
Some see an hourglass
on her stomach
or a bright eye peering
through a door into hell. Others
see fire just beyond
a stand of spruce
turning a hillside to ash.
But I see a red compass arrow
sweeping a dark sky
making an X as it searches
North, as if correcting the stars
beginning to take shape in the night.
I didn’t know I could fear
something as small as this—
that I would wake
feeling the soft-as-nothing touch
in my hair, down my chest,
and legs, and run my hands
over the cold sheets
and blanket and remember
I was alone. I didn’t know
I would see dew
caught in a web as a spider
floated between a cage of grass
on a wind you wouldn’t believe
existed, and understand
she had been there all along
working to mimic
an unfinished pattern
for everything.