I encourage a spider to cross, to
string its web from an edge to another. Your
home, spider, defies my eyes unless the light
hits it right or a catch dangles and its legs wiggle
their last.
I nudge a crack with my boot exposing aged lath and a
nail head–this hanging over a dried mouse corpse, its
nose pointing skyward … if only it could see the sky.
I indulge my ungrounded outlet with a task lamp and
stare at the wall I call bare with its
speckles of dirt and greasy fingerprints and
static-stuck hair and, believe me, if I owned
this place I’d break off a piece and share
How you doing?
HUGS!!!
I’m getting by. How about you?
I’m good! Been busy! Can’t believe the Summer is almost gone!