Roundtop

a linked-verse sequence

hanging on

to a single wing
old spiderweb

I dreamed I’d written a book about all my disguises.

When I woke up, it was true.

jumping spider

pressed flat except for
its arc of eyes

The snow’s cold flesh

is as full of life as any corpse.

the acrid odor

the acrid odor / of a stinkbug’s fear / kitchen spider