Invisible Thread

Walked right into it, on the porch at dusk.

That sudden, fine, invisible drag

across my cheek, a flimsy husk

of silk, that made me jump and gag.

I swiped my hand, but it just clung,

a single strand, so thin and slight.

So hard to find where it was strung,

against the dimming, fading light.

It felt like something secret, mean,

a tripwire set, a trap unseen.

And then, nothing, just the night,

and the memory of that sticky blight.