An Infinitely Blank Canvas
A spider can spin in zero
gravity but I cannot write.
I see blank lines where spiders
see an empty invitation.
Through my window, netted fence
turns tarmac green. On the sill
the spider is unimpressed
with that empty, catchless weave.
Perhaps it lacks decoration –
that well-placed ornament
to lend some ambiguity,
so it can be read as a flower.
On the inside sill my coffee
evaporates. Nothing appears.
An absence does not create
a water cycle, or a web.
Spider webs were once layered,
to create silken canvases.
The paper I throw away will
become single-ply toilet rolls.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2009
