by Frank C. Praeger

As near as cicadas stridulating at nightfall, 

wolf spiders occupy the floor; 

a gnat, a gesture and all flukes 

commandeered, not given quarter. 

Not to have gone on, nor gaggedrestating 

infinitesimal querulous 

quandaries, forgetting bungling acts,

their corollaries; 

relaxed,  

noting spider webs,  

a crescent moon,  

a piqued human, 

and others 

whispering across a shadowy room.