Alan Harris reading
Through the Center
by Alan Harris
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In the humid stillness of this August afternoon I watch a spider spinning its web in the ceiling corner above what some may call my deathbed. Is there a faint whisper? I hold my breath to hear it. No, no sound at all-- a silent eight-legged dance on the wallpaper border, a twirling in air, a catching on a thought. Share the secret of your web's design with me, fellow spinner in space, and I'll reveal it to mankind in homely phrases, given a few more days on earth. Fill me with your simple wisdom as I lay complexities aside. What is this long-lost feeling? As your web takes flimsy form, my room grows dim, then dark-- this air will not be breathed. Some force is kindly lifting me to your delicate ceiling circle that I may venture through the center toward our one and only Light. |
From the book Blue Sky in Buckets (1990)
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(Alan Harris)
by Alan Harris. All rights reserved.