In the cool corner of window sash,
between glass and torn screen
a small battle wages.
From above I watch,
dispassionate and curious,
as a minute spider in her fine web
snares a great hopping spider,
betrayed by the intricate artistry
of his own kind.
I need to know this morning if Meek
will triumph over Might.
Meek struggles to tie down each furry leg,
darting forward and wrapping--
quickly, quickly--
before backing up ringside to safety.
Beyond the screen
one squirrel fends off another,
a bluejay dives at a cardinal,
and the sun reaches its peak.
The small warrior persists,
and I am caught, too.
But when the sun drifts to its daily end
the small one knows to give up.
Might crawls free,
leaving Meek in her tapestry,
torn and empty of possibilities.
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