Spider Web

The spider web drifts,
abandoned, useless,
high in the window
bright in the setting sun,
close to a world in motion.

Not immersed in the savage flow,
it is protected from wild birds
that caw in the swaying tree
peering down
at creatures bound to solid,
unmoving ground.

Their motion
is sacred motion,

but the web just aimlessly stirs
in an inner breeze

always on the edge
of the living sea

held fast by stasis
of gravity.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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