This morning, between two branches of a tree <br />Beside the door, epeira once again <br />Has spun and signed his tapestry and trap. <br />I test his early-warning system and <br />It works, he scrambles forth in sable with <br />The yellow hieroglyph that no one knows <br />The meaning of. And I remember now <br />How yesterday at dusk the nighthawks came <br />Back as they do about this time each year, <br />Grey squadrons with the slashes white on wings <br />Cruising for bugs beneath the bellied cloud. <br />Now soon the monarchs will be drifting south, <br />And then the geese will go, and then one day <br />The little garden birds will not be here. <br />See how many leaves already have <br />Withered and turned; a few have fallen, too. <br />Change is continuous on the seamless web, <br />Yet moments come like this one, when you feel <br />Upon your heart a signal to attend <br />The definite announcement of an end <br />Where one thing ceases and another starts; <br />When like the spider waiting on the web <br />You know the intricate dependencies <br />Spreading in secret through the fabric vast <br />Of heaven and earth, sending their messages <br />Ciphered in chemistry to all the kinds, <br />The whisper down the bloodstream: it is time.<br /><br />Howard Nemerov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dependencies/
