Entrapment

How clear
           on this bright morning
the fine fibres
           spun by industrious spiders
the silky threads of light
           strung from beam to beam
from wall to wall
           weightless lines of beauty
that colonise the thin air
           and are there
to entangle if not to entice
           the most innocent of prey
the aphid and the mosquito
           the bluebottle fly
all grisly grist
           to that particular mill

John Lyons