The Desert Bus

Anthology of Poetry

To Winston, the camera spider

by Cam

When you were first given this form, oh weaver
by the jealous god standing sentinel
at the intersection of craft and war;
your skill too precious, too beautiful
to be taken out of our firmament,
cleansed of the holy pride you could once feel
weaving filament over filament
your strong nerves over nerve on naked steel,
To arrive across our lens, our focus,
trying to catch something you intuit,
something precious, clutched at, that passes
you once recognized, silent and patient
We overcome our pride and revulsion
to feed your fragile, hungry compulsion