First, the egg-smoothe babies of May
which the cat stalks and swallows. Then,
shiny black specks on the high White ceilings.
They move like tiny clouds. Imperceptibly.
Spun on the trellis, a concatenation of successive webs.
Crawling through gaps in the skirting
they scoot across the floor.
A dot of a body with impossibly long legs,
or like today’s one, a body the size of a thumbprint
With rugby players knees.
They either freeze unmoved for days,
or scramble the minute you go looking for a tumbler.
They peak in September, half the size of your hand.
Last night, with the light off, I swear I heard them walking.
I sleep, knowing they’re everywhere.