Animus, poetry from the veil

Arachne

Alien beauty and a savage grace,
wreathed in an iridescent fur,
seeing life eight-fold through clustered eyes.
She moves like a marionette,
weaving her lace net each night,
renewed beneath the moon's cool light,
then sitting Buddha-like,
in perfect calm and firm resolve,
legs outstretched,
like a pianist's firm fingers,
tensed and set to play.

A struggling visitor
trapped within her lambent weave,
calls out in twists and tugs.
She glides toward him in silent grace
upon her silken dance floor,
freshly decorated
with morning's glowing dew.

The dance begins,
her partner raised above her head and spun,
soon dressed in silk and motionless.
The dance concludes,
in light of early dawn,
unchanged and ancient as the night,
and our ballerina rests at last.