On this last day,
the one in which the now shrinks down
to a handful of breaths,
and the air softens
to welcome death
and the world is shrouded in light
like a crypt suffused with tender welcome
– on this last day,
the beloved sees invisible filaments
strung between different species of trees.
Blown into place
by the breath of the world,
these conduits become the crafting place
where artesans create beauty.
Stronger than they look,
these webs fill random space
with predictable, ever-different patterns.
Unseen in many kinds of light,
the glorious work continues.