Hope is webbed in time

hope is

Webbed in time

Each occasion a spinneret

Churns out

The moon silk to earth’s womb,

A vibration is sent out to

The trees

They whisper to the birds

And the crawling ants laugh at the fly.

It is I, Edward, who has been in this state of ubiquitous fragility, to keep up with the never ending niche of nature and grasping needs of man, have been weathered by such tiny processes,

Over and over,

So tiny and seemingly insignificant,

That, in all redundancy,

Has created a new and insurmountable mountain of cascading

Failure, losses and a tumbling round of time

Time that should’ve been spent with you, My dear Jane.