recently she left
the she spinning from mere observation
and fingertips
the webs and iron spiders
that straddled chasms,
she left. she sewing
buttons on doll clothes and
sculpting men from mud.
confronting and living
like she, she left.
and without her
we are only us
with spidermares
and dolls dressed off-the-rack,
and poverty.
our poor unseeing eyes.
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