Poem: Mantra of Web

 

Mantra of  Web

 

a sage ponders near ribs of silk

which catch light to draw wings

 

and concludes

 

there’s no stopping

life’s sweetsour trysts,

 

this truck

of flirt and declension.

 

gossamer, they conclude,

is no meaner than the moths

who scourge apple trees,

 

or the verdigris

on molded tangerines;

 

for even plants

have delicate sense

in wound, plight and savor.

 

more so,

 

in this beautiful orgy

of the world’s sucked and plumped,

 

who splices whom,

which ‘how' grafts onto what ‘why’?

 

a gardener, it is said,

is led along

by the bridle of a peach tree:

 

heated from the toil

for golden succulence

under the yoke of cultivation.

 

maybe, even, 

in the end,

 

the sparkles

in the halo of a spider

are the most innocent,

 

mere sequins

aside the sharp jewels

and fiery spangles

 

of war.

 

 

 

 

 

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1/24/25 .. "mantra" replaces "philosophy" ... other mods