The earth might as well be made of clay.
It doesn’t just form so fluidly under spinning wheels and stable hands.
It bakes for days on end,
turns red and sometimes cracks.
At noon it burns, and at dusk the deep hidden warmth hangs like candlelit lanterns
…and the spiders all know,
that when the sky is perfect purple,
the earth is a cozy crib,
for webs and beddings,
and curling up to the baked clay.
To scatter about the dancefloor,
nuzzle and sweet-talk their
and dream of building webs to the moon.
Image: Petroglyphs in Chilean Atacama Desert by Zdeněk Bardon, 2019. European Southern Observatory