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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.