Web of pale silk hanging in arcs across the sky,
Marble pillars pulling taut a new net,
To trap or to catch?

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A predator perched on a single string
Lying in wait for the bird or the worm to wander in.
Master of design weaving a whimsical pattern,
aided by the billowing wind.

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Even when gone the threads remain,
An endless mark of innovation
To be modeled and imitated.

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What happens when the wind blows too fast?
When a hand cuts in?

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Lost to the air again,
who would strike down a home?