Cobweb

I want to live like a moth stuck in a spider’s web,

suspended in the silvery threads of my memory,

staring up at the blue sky,

studying as the leaves regrow like phoenix feathers,

gold, to cellophane, to ghost, to figment,

distracted as year by year,

my fanged death inches closer,

its scythes glinting in the light of an autumn day,

its shadow cool on my skin,

its face kind as it eclipses

my existence,

leaning in to kiss me goodbye.

*

But I can’t live blind to death,

what would my life be if I didn’t know I had everything to lose?

What would the web be like without a few tears in it?