Snow sometimes changes color. Walking by the house again, under a brightened arch, the cross streets
are in dark. Someone plays a friend’s favorite song, it helps me to think through this street.

There was a past in which one tense of snow was snew. Snow that snew the whole night long as the busy
            spider silked the kitchen corner
while in warmer realms the orb weaver
gilded garden paths.

We’re all wearing the silk. We’ve never not been, and through this garden. I was the mouse running from
            the threat of the hunt, as in yesterday.
As in another hour.

The soundtrack is coming from our chests. It must have been.
Highlights of the silk golding under the intense heat of a reverie. I take up the spider’s organizational
            movements,
its designing mind.

“The Implied Spider,” she said–the tangible spidery sound in my chest/her chest in tune with what
            world awaiting like weaponry. Like weather. Like woven memory
she suspended herself, warmed herself within.

Can you know it? No way. Do you sense the patterns within yourself? I can.
I was the weaver. I was the song in our chests.

ELLA LONGPRE is an author (How to Keep You Alive, CCM Press), musician, and friend. She is currently earning a PhD at the University of Denver, and her work can be found in jubilat, pulpmouth, and other publications. She can be found in the woods.

ERINROSE MAGER‘s work appears in jubilat, Fence, Prelude, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere. She is a Creative Writing PhD candidate at the University of Denver.

BIN RAMKE teaches at the University of Denver. His next book of poems Earth on Earth will be published next year by Omnidawn.

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