The spider

[This end-of-semester poem is dedicated to every one of us who now and then wishes to return to a simpler time...even if that time was not so long ago. That's pretty much everyone out there right now, no?]

The spider

Last autumn, when the morning
came late in low pink slats of sun
landing on the leaf-smut
that cluttered up the shrubs,
her web gleamed with
hints of early frost.

Then she went away.

I’ve searched for her
each morning for a week, in the corner
where I last saw her.
She’s not come back yet,
but I know she must.
I know she must.