I dug after your life
with my longing and cold
grasp on the facts.
Webs circled and crossed my head
I couldn’t see them
I just saw you,
trying to clear the gap
with all science and nature
afforded you.
I didn’t want you to fall.
To see you drown,
swirling in ginger soap.
And yet, I helped.
At that point,
you were past the point,
never crawling up the spout again.
Never weaving invisible things
I strained to see.
Never catching, never hunting,
never waiting in the shadows
of the basement–
where you’d possibly lived for years.
Keeping things as you wanted them.
Maybe, I met you on the first day.
Maybe you watched me block
The point of entry for some of your food.
I watched your legs scratch over the cardboard.
Set it aside,
watched you walk away.
I didn’t want you to fall,
to let the water take you.