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.