The Spider
(translated from 'Y Corryn' by Iwan Llwyd) His web was perfect and him sitting there where the glistening threads intersect: he spent his life knitting sunlight to a round plane of dew; the end of his labour in sight he'd listen to the drip of the rain between the lines silently shifting their refrain and the grey river in full flow irritable as it falls companionless below to meet the brackish floods between the autumn cliffs and the fringed woods; he is impatient weaving intricate patterns, each answering assent marking an exact measure between corner and centre stealing the stars' treasure of diamonds to entice insects along steel threads towards the silence: then a sudden rush of air a quiver through the intersections; like an old man he's there under the yellow leaves gathering it all in to the pattern that he weaves. |