The golden orb spider that has drawn nights
into herself and stolen shards of sun
stretches her legs to the ends of the story
she has spun. I know this laced labyrinth.
Many times I walked it, breath held,
arms outstretched, lest I fall
through the merciless gaps, spiral
through chaos, crash
upon the concrete below.
Thus trembling I encountered her,
Light-flecked darkness at the heart
of all things, and carried her whispered words
to where the edges of my story
meet the world.
Be careful not to break
the glittering map spread between trees
in the middle of your path.
You might save baby pied fantails,
small flies, wriggling moths.
But it is my story you destroy,