Take my two hands
make eight feet of them
give them to the spider I
soaked in hot water in
my kitchen sink. Accidentally.

I will hide my arms
in long sleeves, will
finish the last painting with
brush in my teeth
but take my two hands.

If the spider
curls up into
silence, dies,
she will weave her next web
in my soul
will travel with me
through all the lives
eighty four thousand
and more.