The taps of a spider’s legs
go unheard on the web
as it collects the dew
dropped from the wing of a robin

the silk has a purpose
a start, then an end
sometimes taught
often drooped
from weight
always moving, weaving
but not soundless

in a noisy world
the silent arachnid steps
towards that twig
to connect those points
then begins again
the legs crawl
then wait

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