Member Poem

No, it isn’t quite daily, yet

one inevitably clumsy step through the web

I know is there but cannot see

whispers something new each time.

Those tangled invisible fingers

my hands cannot find,

let alone wipe away,

spell out an impassable urge

to build bigger than the self.

One moment reveals only a fine string

at the center, binding effort and grace,

spinning delicate woven doilies

out of hunger and need.

Those wispy tickles remind, always,

when I tread into the darkness, watch closer,

don’t rush into what’s next or past.  
Respect that personal embroidery,
that map of a small world.