You – Spider

Don’t walk by my laundry stand,
I’ve just hung a thread.

Don’t send me a text – I’ll climb 
between the lines to look for you.

Don’t use that still eye on me,
I’ll lose my rest, this incubation.

Don’t make shadows play
trickery in the space I’ve made

or wet me with cold love. I need
to stay dry, grow – hairy and wild. 

Stay away from this chalice bath,
where I think like a statue.

Webs – fresh casts. Don’t flick
them into non-existence, keep me

on a thin path. I want to rest, be centred,
dream in the hexagon net with my catch.

I’ve done enough running. Keep your knocks
and traps, holding up my body for inspection

in the wine glass. Yes, it’s a safe dome,
this capture, for you, me – curled

to a circle, afraid of my own legs. 
Stop – at the door, even your breath will

kill my silk, your musings of tonight
or tomorrow night, for our death-dance.