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, the sage concludes,

is no meaner than the moths

who scourge apple trees,

 

or the verdigris

on molded tangerines,

 

for plants have delicate sense

in wound, plight and savor.

 

more so,

 

in this beautiful orgy

of the world’s sucked and plumped,

 

who splices who?

which ‘how' grafts onto what ‘why’?

 

a gardener, it is said,

is led along by the bridle of a peach tree:

 

sweated by 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 so much more.

 

 

 

 

 

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4/25/25 ... mods

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