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.