Chandelier Spider

Once I had to constantly remake home
when it was destroyed. I patiently made
restrung each strand between brightnesses, honed
each line for those who reluctantly stayed.

Now, dust dulls the shine, I repair damage,
less. There are many more of us making
homes in the still air. Some brightnesses
fall,
raise clouds below while I make a restring.

Air is no longer heated, sharp coldness.
Soon my bairns will eat me alive as I
ate my mam too. They will make their lines fresh
homes elsewhere, after they have fed on my

body. A life rich in captured surprise.
Soon they will eat the brightness of my eyes.