by Bridget Sprouls

I am watching a spider and listening to waltzes

The spider has no web

No doubt she is choosing a place

perched on top of the comforter I have thrown to the floor

(the wall sweats and it grew spotty)

Violins are trilling on the 7th

The spider, like the nose and whiskers of a kitten

creeps along

changing her mind a lot

It’s got to be hard

Cymbals 

finding yourself in different countries

all new angles

Saltando stroke

Hello Paganini

The spider has not moved in a while

Teardrop percussion

My first instrument was

a pair of sticks

I guess we’re all putting something off