Invisible Architecture

Stepped outside, a quiet brush

against my cheek. No sudden rush,

just silk, a fine, cool thread.

I flinched, then looked above my head.

Between the frame and porch light's glass,

a world I nearly let just pass.

Thin as thought, yet strong and true,

a perfect geometry, dewed

with morning light, catching tiny motes.

And there, patient, a creature floats,

a dark speck at its center, still.

Building kingdoms against its will,

or mine. Invisible until I broke it.

So small, the architect, it spoke it,

its whole life, into being, just like that.

And now, a gap, where it once sat.