Stiching

i en av högarna med ett kvarts sekels anteckningar, tittar ett pappershörn fram med följande ord:
för att hitta hem
SEKRET konst
s/he is a denizen of the night, the spider artist can sew fine stiches in the dark, without even a light, except perhaps the inner radiance s/he herself cast upon the Arc of White that is her material

the net she casts to catch a divine wind is made of that yarn of pearl she draws from her own body, the design spun of and from herself to outwit night and death...
the cleaving, the chasm are patched and mended seam to seam, by the magical stitchery of art...

A spider sewed at night
Without a light
Upon an arc of white.
If ruff it was of dame
Or shroud of gnome,
Himself, himself inform.
Of immortality
His strategy
Was physiognomy.
(Emily Dickinson)