Like the silkworm, is it

Like the silkworm, is it
spit the spider
leaves behind? Loose
tangle of squares

and circles so moth
and fly go stupid
to pass through or rest
on a thread. Not yet,

either one, though wind
billows the doorway.
She does a little repair,
down, sideways.

A hunger so elaborate
is casual now. Nothing
to it but the rising
and the falling.