By Edward Butscher

A distant ink dot of a spider

(what seems to be a spider)

suspended in neon-lit midair

by an invisible web and eye

above a white-tiled bathroom

corner like a dripped period


invites in all that is not there

the ache and awe of galaxies

and their massively dawning

and dying planets and dwarf

stars below unslippered toes.


This is light’s time and place

(elated at being alive again)

to raise and praise the survival

of resurrected and regathered

selves, leaving behind the dark’s

knotted nightmares of old fears


and frayed lines of beloved faces

gone down forever under undone

expressions, reaching and holding

one another, another you, a boy

alone daring a tree to drop him.



Edward Butscher is the author of first biographies of Sylvia Plath and Conrad Aiken, as well as shorter books on Adelaide Crapsey and Peter Wild, much criticism, and several books of poems, most recently, Eros Descending.

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