There’s a geometry to the kill tucked up where the siding

There’s a geometry to the kill tucked up where the siding

meets the roof, a single line of spit and mineral pulling

the whole house tight against the yard, and I saw

the moth first, a frantic gray pulse beating its dust

into the sticky lattice until the left wing snapped like a dry leaf.

It didn't stop, it just got louder, a high-frequency panic

that made the silk shudder and sing against the wood

while the spider didn't even move, just waited

for the physics of the struggle to do the work,

the tension of the anchor line holding fast

while the world tore itself apart in the corner.