The Web
At dusk, the fisherfolk stretch nets across the inlet,
to haul their swimming harvest in
at break of day.
So the spider in our garden
strings its web from tree to nearest tree
to catch its nightly meal
a passing moth, a beetle
a late home-flying fly.
Misty morning light finds the web
bedewed:
useless now to catch a flying thing
but, caught by camera lens,
a web
of gleaming pearls.