Poets Are Spiders

Poets Are Spiders

It takes no effort to catch a fly.
What takes effort is spinning the web
Out of the silk of one’s very life,
Choosing carefully the anchor points,
Disclosing the hidden patterns,
Then waiting, trusting that
What you’ve put yourself in the way of
Will inevitably come,
Like a sail in the way of wind.
Only now you must wait, wait years,
If need be, your eight hands 
Holding on like four kids 
On a toboggan, your myriad eyes 
Like a cluster of grapes,
Though there’s nothing to see.
You'll know you have one
When the whole web
Shimmers like a tambourine,
Silk and wings remembering
One another from when,
The same will made them
By exerting itself upon air.
But no need to hurry.
It will be there, the poem
You put yourself in the way of.
When you’re ready you may begin 
With mincing steps to move
Towards what you’ve caught.
It is time to see what it is
You’ve got.