Su Tung P’O (11th c. Chinese poet)
Starting at dawn, zigzagging up
Mt. Shozan, at a narrow pass
A web blocks the path. Sun through it
As through silk, at the web’s
Center, a calm, jeweled spider.
Moments pass; tingling
He turns, re-routes his way.
Later, by his brother’s fire,
The wine jars that had been full,
Light, he thinks to the spider,
Wind thrumming its web,
The moon full in all eight eyes.