A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the
water,
and everything that's happened to me all these
years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I
turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the
lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my
breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.