Spider, teach me of prayer:
happy with where you work,
flowering shrub or rusting hubcap;
the first leap from here to there,
that suddenly possible connection,
repeated and amplified,
the little knot of hope, extended,
enlarged, layered out
in the architecture of patience,
the ever expanding rounds
more like a window than a door,
the thinness of your lines,
yet how they hold morning dew
and shrug off ripping winds. Teach me
the grace of not getting caught
in your own web,
not thinking or even looking
how your little feet work the tightropes,
on your legs as thin,
well, as thin as prayer.

And then the waiting,
so still,
the still, still waiting,

for the tiny bug of God.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

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