These days are unfolding, now

like the legs

of an awakened spider,

feeling the tremors on its web;

the first catch

of a new year.

Subtlety was always

your strong suit,

so much so,

that you looked like

enmity never touched you;

no, never plagued you.

Sometimes I wondered

if you were even alive;

and then you rise

like a summer storm,

whipping up intensity,

until the world sated you.

Then you’d drift back

into your inconspicuous

half life

of a nuclear bomb.


The sun greets me

every morning, now

and I think about

the flowers coming up

amongst the dead

and decaying waste

of all their brothers.

Last year’s sentinels

are fed upon.

Like you and I,

we are survivors.

Come so far

and now;

here we are.

You, so stoic and intractable;


a wonder of intent

I’ll never really understand.


So I slow it down,

let the days unfold.

Let all the tragedies

come and go.

Sensing timing

in the ebb and flow.

I know you feel it, too;

the way a spider

can feel the wind.

A better time

is before us,

as is the potential

for all things to unfold,

as they do,

in patterns.


HG – 2018



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