How secret the crab spider is!
Waiting for hours, a live spring
To be gobbled by a beak
Or discharged by a bee. Hungry
Spider, pure silence! I understand
Yours better than any mailman’s
Or doctor’s. We, poet and predator,
Are part of the same cosmic hush.
The only difference between them and us
Is perverse imagination--They’re dissatisfied
Because they think their lot is to be gods;
By nature we know whatever is is enough.
(Enough is here in his back yard
With a chicken sandwich. Flashback:
A gazelle eats grass. Flash forward:
A leopard with its carcass up a tree.)
Gods? I was once Bee, I was once Spider;
Before that, spider, I and bee were dust--
While one writes this, the latter lands--
Satisfied, poet and predator eat.
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