The Spider Sends Gifts

by Mike Allen

The event horizon
bounds the edge of my web.
Your scholars claim nothing can emerge from my silk,
no morsels that alight within, not even
my own burnt-cinder body.
Shine the spotlight here, you'll see nothing,
maddening absence,
and even more troubling hints of motion
as the sleek, dark arches of my legs
quiver at frequencies undetectable
by eye alone.
the milkweed spill scatters from my funnel,
wriggling specks of stardust drifting,
spinning light,
Doppler strands lengthening behind,
firework sparks burning brighter as they
crawl to you —
all my hundred thousand babies,
hunting for new homes.

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