By Benjamin J. Kirby

A tiny spider

caught

under brown bark

of a thin slash pine

Rainwater

a single droplet

rolls away

just

past your thin finger

You touch the smooth space

feel

the tender groove

in the ancient tree

The murk of still water

pools

at our feet

so I lift you

high in my arms

eyes meet yours

the sun frames

in your face

We ask the spider

for his simple gratitude

We offer our own

together

Benjamin J. Kirby writer and father of three living in St. Petersburg, Florida. His poetry can be found in more than a dozen literary magazines and journals. For eight years, he produced the award-winning political blog The Spencerian. Short stories, poetry, and more can be found at BenjaminJKirby.com.