And here we are in the hour of the spider,
time slows in variant transfer,
sadder than moon and the inconsequential
netting of another dead insect
in the turn’s turn,
accidental rhythms and sticky notes
up on a surface and there dwelling at peace
once thought unimaginable on the quick road.
Slows for sorrow
to reflect how it went
speeding toward the final episode when
the first and second had been omitted,
the third misrecalled. We were
enchanted, climbing the hill in search
of honey or waiting at the curb
for the light to change
or falling onto the deepest stake
driven into the enflamed
white passages between high branches.