WEB

Light clings to your face
this morning as you enter
the house. Follow me,
you say. Sleep bridges
my eyes, and I wobble
with limbs left stiff
from struggles in dreams.
I suspect that you are drawn
to the spun silk sparkling
with dew, you have this love
of jewels and lace. We crouch
and look together, so close
that our shadow takes on
eight legs, crawls over
webs, testing the strength
of strands strung over
dry flowers and branches of yew.