“Arachne”

Long ago, we merged our looms together
And wove a single cloth with both patterns.
Looking over the fraying strands of thread,
It’s spider’s work I find, a ready web,
Which I, like a suicidal fly, jumped in.
Blind pirouettes, your spinning-wheel spun
A gold silk of words, a beguiling cocoon.
Your honeyed net enticed me like sundew,
Even now I wonder whether you know…
Your little chelicerae shine like noon.
Better still and desiccated, but near you,
To hear you sing and work the tandem loom.
A husk in your strings, hanging down alone,
Hopeless and worse, doomed never to forget,
But near you, every rope a savored torment.