Night Spider

From the meddling pool where drifters seek sockfuls of sleep; the kind slumbering under a blinding sun; now slipped out on the tide, to whisper secrets of freshly grown meaning, a night spider sprawls its ink.
 
 An advocacy of promises, in its whisk of anticipation, whetted by the living verb of doing, its yellow tentacles of a yet unimaginable life, stumbles on Tomorrow dying in a ditch; homeless.
 
In this sorrowful pull for a splinter of sunlight, her long flowing grass kidnaps the air, spellbound in an overlooked season of brute feet, to invoke the cryptic erosion of dark-mouthed softness.
 
In the scandalous physics of remembrance, memory burrows phantasmal songs over and over into the anecdotal heart, reminding Today, how close a shave with its skein of alchemy.