The sun shone through the mountain trees like the display lights on a garden sculpture,
and I was the ambling visitor wearing an orange wrist-band covered by my sweater.

Over a mound of splayed rocks rounded the path to a tree, holding a boulder for stability.
The light exposed a series of dotted silk lines pulling two twigs into shining arches.

My eyes were pulled delicately into the creation: a flat sail of spiraling precision
catching enough wind (and all that might flow with it), to bend slightly at the center

where rested what could only be its maker; compressed and anonymous;
tucked in early for the winter; poised to spring but placid in its pristine purpose.

I slid through it to continue in my person’s way when I was tangled.

Not an insect’s inch a way, a separate twig was bowed, but closer still another,
And yet another——random talons of a claw in which was clenched an invisible cage

and I, tied into it. I saw now the guts of my capture: a tangle of indiscriminate
trip-wires flayed sideways and diagonally in this menacing altar of sacrifice

at which stood proudly the priest of the Sunday’s ceremony in venomous green garb;
already prepared for an open season; perched sanctimoniously in his looming intent.

He lifted above to claim his shaking prize,
eight eyes grinning down at his captive’s surprise.

09/20/2004

Author's Note: Workshop poem (something seen).

Posted on 09/21/2004
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