She had taken down her web by morning. I awoke from kissing your mouth over and over. I was afraid you would turn away but you leaned in sweetly my body soft and you were mine, we were us another moment. Waking without you, suddenly, I gather myself for the day reeling back threads of silky dreams that somehow led to your face in my hands, that somehow found you in the wide night, unraveling my bound and wounded heart. Leaving, aching, by the door I look to the place – it had spanned magnificently from the overhang to a folded chair – where the orb weaver had crafted her web the evening before; the air was just crispening with a hint of coming autumn – solitary – and she at the ready, sitting proudly and fatly in the very center: imposing, hairy legs and the visage of a wrinkled someone etched onto her abdomen. Hello grandmother, I would say, thank you for your designs. Now she too: gone, with the first blush of today.