When each gust of wind grabbed it the web
convulsed, its thready grid rolling like one of
those animations of a space-time warp.
Its sole denizen hunched, hungry, in the refuge
of a redwood mooring, senses alit with need,
as another windy wave tugged at the dawn's
dew-beads until they dropped from lofty skeins
- a thousand warning lights crashing to the ground.
Sans reflection, the newly veiled strands billowed
in sticky menace to any hapless wanderers.
Yet as the winds ebbed and the day dimmed, the bare
silk-beams betrayed their architect, chance's chump,
whose darting eyes plied the dusky void for a windfall.