Midsummer


The morning glories on this shaded porch
have now outgrown the plain string harp
we stretched with them in mind in May —
before the seedling heads began to lift,

before the fleeting, first-leaf cotyledons came.  
Their daring tendrils now nose into open air,
unfazed, unscathed by the fact of sky-blue being
merely the scattering of light on dust.

And now, by these brave and longing vines,
by their shapely tangle and blooms going so
faithfully to seed, a small orb-weaver
has been drawn to this threshold of domesticity.

So silent her arrival, unseen, unbidden,
who knows just when, who could say when
this shaggy consecration began to spin
and to sun itself among the daily glories.

For hours, she appears to be a contemplative,
alert only to vibrations in the web.
But this is a stillness that is, for all the world,
the way of a fortunate and consummate hunter.

first published in Homage (Ebb Tide Editions, 2024)
Homage Travel Stories & Essays | Poems | Contents at-a-Glance