Across uneven ground, she lays
a crazy quilt of gauze and glue—
 
then sits at the center, above a hole
where she can drop and hide
 
at the least provocation—right now,
my shadow. There she goes,
 
prepared to cache until worthy
prey march into her trap, fated
 
to join something bigger than
themselves. She’s a solitary spinner
 
whose net will break before sunset,
and who will make another—
 
who won’t give up unless struck
by praying mantis or wolf spider or
 
alligator lizard, the few who tolerate
her poison. I won’t disturb a life
 
that’s not mine to imagine.